The Legend of Klark kom Skaikru
by lizziebennetgonesolo
Summary: An unidentified grounder contemplates the growing legend of Clarke of the Sky People among the Tri Kru. Based on a recurring idea that Jason Rothenberg mentioned in several interviews following the finale. Originally a oneshot, but continued by popular demand.
1. Prologue: The Legend Begins

**A/N: This is the first story I have ever published on this site. I hope you enjoy it!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the 100; it belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

There is a legend brewing in the woods. The people's whispers tell of a warrior unmatched in strength and resolve, but with a conscience and a heart of equal import to her character.

Among the Tri Kru, she is known as Klark Kom Skaikru.

Among her own people, she is Clarke of the Sky People.

Before our truce, she incinerated over 300 of our finest so that the Skaikru could survive. She escaped the Mountain Men with Anya Kom Tri Kru, forged a truce with Heda Lexa through the sacrifice of a loved one, and constantly protected the peace through her shrewdness and temerity, all to save our people and hers from the monsters within the mountain that dared to call themselves "human".

She planned, fought, and bled with the Tri Kru, earned our admiration, and, rumour has it, the eye of the Heda herself.

And despite this, our people – our Commander – betrayed her. Left her to fend for herself outside the mountain, after bargaining for the lives of our own. We dishonoured ourselves, the alliance, and those we were to save.

And yet, Klark Kom Skaikru liberated her people from their stone prison, wiping out the spectres within that had haunted the Tri Kru since the very beginning. The blood drainers ceased to exist among the living, at the utterance of her command.

Now, they say, she roams the woods alone, away from the Ark the Skaikru call home. Her lieutenant, Bellamy, now watches over their people, as she bears the burden of loss and torment in solitude.

Some among us call her the Angel of Death; others, the Golden Wolf, for her tresses – the colour of sunlight, some say – and her fierceness, even in isolation. She is watched for when our hunters prowl; every one among them hopes to catch a glimpse of this enigma of a woman.

Already, she is remembered in our stories; and yet, we know, she has only just begun.

And so starts the legend of **Klark Kom Skaikru**.


	2. Chapter 1: Emergence

**A/N: I'd thought that this piece would remain a one-shot, but given the feedback I received, I have decided to continue the story, using the first chapter as a kind of prologue.**

**Here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

Dusk has fallen over the forest and the air is crisp and cool on my cheeks. The paint on my face has dried in the wind, and its familiar itch keeps me alert despite the late hour. I am one of many on the hunt tonight around Polis; as the season grows ever closer to winter, our people have begun to stockpile more and more meat to dry and turn to jerky.

A rustling of leaves catches my attention and I turn my head towards the source of the noise, immobile but for the twisting of my neck. Even in the dark, I can make out the spots on a fawn, nibbling on the foliage of a sapling with its father by its side.

Stealthily, I nock an arrow on my bow and draw, shifting my stance and preparing to release it, when both father and offspring stiffen, their heads snapping to stare at something off in the distance. They immediately turn and run, and I begin to back away to take cover in the bushes, taking their flight as a warning.

Then, suddenly, I hear a crunching of twigs and whirl around to the source.

Two yellow eyes peer back at me out of the darkness.

A coyote advances from the trees; it is one of the mutated, much larger in size than its ancestors, and the teeth it now bears at me sharper than even the sword on my hip. For a moment, we simply contemplate each other, sizing up the potential threat we pose to one another.

And then, it growls at me.

Immediately, I raise my loaded bow, draw, and release, but the coyote is too quick, evading the arrow easily as it circles wide around the clearing we have now both entered. It is obviously used to being hunted; I cannot stop myself from noting that it must still be alive for good reason.

The coyote stalks towards me, and, bow useless now at such close proximity, I throw it aside and draw my hunting knife. Refusing to back down, I glare into its eyes and snarl, urging it on. The beast lunges, and I try to stab at its underside, but its weight takes me by surprise and before I know it, I am on the ground, its paws mauling my right arm and its teeth inches from my face. I struggle and writhe underneath it, trying to free my arm so that I can use the knife and kicking at its belly. This simply aggravates the coyote, and it redoubles its efforts. I cry out in pain as its claws lacerate my flesh, and close my eyes, horrified –

Without warning, the coyote gives a pitiful yelp and stiffens, and in an instant, I roll it off of me and plunge my knife straight into its heart, wasting no more time. The canine whimpers, shudders for a moment, and then falls still on the forest floor.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and with the immediate threat gone, not even the adrenaline coursing through my system is able to mask the pain that shoots through my body, especially in my arm. I bite down hard on my lower lip to stifle a groan; the taste of iron lingers on my tongue as it sweeps over the wound briefly. I hear the sound of a blade being sheathed and look up, expecting to see one of my fellow hunters and steeling myself for a chastising. I stop short at the sight that greets me.

A young woman stands before me, her face unpainted but marred by streaks of blood and dirt. Her eyes are a dark blue-grey and her hair almost white in the starlight; it is a striking combination that immediately tells me that she is not of the Tri Kru, at least not of my clan. She stands tall, chin raised, a cloak of dark fur draped over her shoulders. Her countenance leaves no doubt as to how she obtained it. Her hand sits loosely on the pommel of the knife sheathed at her hip, and her expression is stoic.

Even before she speaks, I know who she is.

"Ai laik Clarke - kom Skaikru," her voice rings out. "I can help with your arm, if you'd like."


	3. Chapter 2: Encounter

**A/N: I'm just kind of ambling along with this, but I'm enjoying the writing very much. I hope you all like the way the story is going. If you can spare a moment to PM me or write a brief review, I'd love to know your thoughts. Thank you to all those who have reviewed already and to those who have followed and favourited this story.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Clarke POV_

I eye the woman in front of me warily, unsure of her reaction to my olive branch. She hasn't said a word, but her jaw is set with what I can only assume is a great deal of pain from her arm – and goodness knows whatever other injuries the infernal coyote managed to inflict upon her. I wouldn't be surprised if the animal cracked a rib or two of hers in their struggle.

My eyes move from the lesions on her arm to the rest of her. The woman's stance is still defensive, and I can't read the expression on her face. The only hint at her thoughts is her steady gaze; there's recognition in it. Maybe she was a soldier in … the _Heda's … _forces, and she's seen me at the war council meetings. There's something else in her eyes, too. Not quite fear … what is that?

I shake my head slightly and abandon my attempt to make out her thoughts, instead rolling the leather pack I carry off of my shoulders and dropping to kneel on the ground. I open the lowermost pouch and pull out a flask and a wad of bandage, holding them up for the woman's inspection.

"I'm a healer," I tell her. _Or at least, I used to be,_ I think. "I can clean your arm, bandage it, and maybe prevent infection…?"

The woman studies me for another long moment, but finally, she responds with a solemn nod. "Alright," she says, her voice low and hoarse.

The corners of my mouth twitch upwards for the faintest second; it's the closest I have come to a smile in months. I gesture to a fallen log and she limps over, unable to hide the wince as she lowers herself to sit. I grimace in sympathy, taking a seat beside her and setting my pack in front of me. I pull a canteen from it, momentarily putting the flask aside, and begin to inspect the damage.

"Hunting run?" I ask her tentatively, trying to distract her from what I'm about to do.

"Yes," she answers bluntly, with a sharp nod. "We are preparing for winter."

"Of course," I murmur, unscrewing the canteen. Only part of me registers the statement. My main focus lies on the task at hand. The woman was lucky, at least relatively speaking. The wounds on her arms, while by no means superficial, are not as deep as they could have been. If I had more string, I would use it, but I have to save it for emergencies, and as long as I wrap the bandage securely enough, these cuts should heal sufficiently without stitches. Besides, I would butcher them anyway in this light – it's a miracle I can make out the wounds as is, let alone tell that they have begun to clot.

All this registers in under a minute. Once my analysis is finished, I add to my previous comment, "I am not looking forward to it."

This catches the woman's interest; her torso shifts towards me a bit, and she glances at me briefly, dark eyes glinting in the starlight. She nods in understanding before hissing as I gently pour water over the length of her arm. "The life of a nomad is never easy, but winter is its own kind of challenge," she gets out through gritted teeth.

"I have to do what I have to do," I mutter grimly, closing the canteen and pulling out a ratty but clean cloth from my pack. I gently lay it over the wounds, applying some pressure so as to help along the clotting. The woman beside me grimaces but shows no other sign of the pain. "If there is anything the ground has taught me, it's that."

In my peripherals, I can see the Grounder woman stare at me in silence, but I refuse to shirk away from her appraisal. No one can judge me more harshly than I have judged myself, so I have nothing to fear from her, I reason.

"That is indeed the way of the ground," she says to me after another long pause. "Especially for those who bear the burden of leadership." I turn to look her, unsurprised but wary, and lift an eyebrow. She gives me a small, closed-mouth smile. "We all know of you, Clarke of the Sky People. Our alliance with your people was the subject of much controversy, and you were its face, you and Heda Lexa."

I can't help but stiffen when the woman says _her _name, and my change in posture doesn't go unnoticed. In fact, the woman laughs at my reaction. Something in my expression must have changed too, because she chuckles again before remarking, "Ah, so the Wolf has teeth after all. Not that I would doubt it from what I hear of your time in the Mountain."

"Wolf?" I ask, feeling uncannily calm at the mention of the Mountain. I remove the cloth from the woman's arm, douse it in water and wring it out. Then I grab the flask, open it, and soak the cloth in moonshine. "Oh, and by the way," I say all the while, "just to warn you – this will burn like hell."

The woman bears her teeth in a vicious grimace and nods her head, bracing herself. She answers me while she waits for the sting, obviously trying to distract herself from what I'm doing. "Yes, Wolf," she says. "The Tri Kru have heard many stories about you; you've become something of a myth among our people, Clarke of the Sky People. You are a living legend –" The woman cries out as I, with an apologetic glance, press the alcohol-doused cloth to her wounds, her flesh no doubt sizzling in agony. Her hand reaches out to grab my wrist and squeeze and I make no effort to stop her.

"Your exploits have earned you many names among us – one of them is Golden Wolf," she continues, her breaths coming in hisses.

I rinse off her wounds with water once more and gently pat the area down with my last dry strip of cloth. "Golden Wolf," I mutter, shaking my head. The title is absurd to me. "I think Murderer is more like it."

The woman's eyes cut to mine sharply. "We are all murderers here, Clarke kom Skaikru, if not by act, then in spirit through complicity or debt. Do not judge yourself so harshly. Like you said, it is the way of the ground. Our own survival and the survival of our loved ones, these things come first. Everything else is luxury."

Her eyes hold mine for an indeterminate amount of time, daring me to contradict her. I don't bother; rationally, I understand her logic. It is not so different from _hers_, or … well, from mine, on the Mountain. _But logic and its hypotheticals are one thing_, I think to myself, _and reality is another._

I break our staring contest, leaning down to search for some of my supply of antibiotic seaweed. I prepare a few strips and lay them out across the lesions, and then ask the woman to hold them in place while I wrap her arm up in bandage. Finally, I am finished; the wounds are bound and relief from the pain has already begun to creep onto the woman's face.

"All done," I remark casually, feeling oddly satisfied.

"Thank you, Clarke of the Sky People," the woman replies solemnly, her gaze intent upon searching mine, apparently.

"It was my pleasure," I say, and I find that I am truly sincere. Having someone to talk to, someone to look after … I've missed it, despite my best efforts to the contrary.

She continues to stare at me for a moment, and then, her expression earnest, she tells me, "I am Aliya kom Tri Kru. You are welcome in my home at Polis anytime, especially if winter becomes too much for you to bear on your own. Although, somehow, I don't think that you are quite ready to visit the capital, am I right?"

For a moment, her kindness shocks me into silence, but I quickly recover myself. "You are," I reply quietly. "But I appreciate your generosity and I may well take you up on it - I have yet to experience an Earth winter on my own and I may find myself outmatched by it."

She smiles at me. "Something tells me that it is no match for you, Clarke kom Skaikru. But the offer stands."

"Then may we meet again, Aliya kom Tri Kru."

"May we meet again."

I reach the edge of the clearing before I hear Aliya call my name one last time before parting. I turn to face her and raise an eyebrow.

"Try to remember, Clarke of the Sky People... Heda Lexa acted as was her responsibility as a leader that day. She did not intend to betray you; she merely acted as she thought her duty as Commander required. Do not blame her personally for what she did. Rumour has it that she cares for you very much."

I keep eye contact with Aliya for a brief instant; and then, with no further delay, I turn back to the brush and let myself be consumed by shadow.


	4. Chapter 3: Survival

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Here is the next installment of the story. From now on, I will be updating twice a week, with the exception of the duration of my exam period in April, in which I will likely only provide one update each week. **

**I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

**Note 1: The Trigedasleng words in this story are taken either from the show itself, the 100 wiki, or from the Trigedasleng Dictionary.**

**Note 2: There was a recent correction to the 100 wiki pertaining to the Trigedasleng spelling of Clarke's name. It turns out that it is "Klark", and not "Klok", which makes much more sense - I was wondering where that "r" sound had gone. As such, I have corrected the title of the story and all mentions of Clarke's name in Trigedasleng. I'm a stickler for those kinds of things ;-) **

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

**_Clarke POV_**

_The stench of rotting flesh clogs my nostrils and, unable to help myself, I vomit all over one of the few empty chairs of the dining hall. _

_I wipe my mouth on my jacket sleeve and pull my scarf over my nose to try to block out the smell as I survey the horrific sight before me._

_Blistered corpses litter the room; men, women, and children, all dressed in fine clothing, are now utterly unrecognizable, slumped against tables, draped over armrests, sprawled on the floor, bodies covered in burns, sores, and rashes. My gaze settles on the body that I know to be Maya's, although I can barely recognize her corpse as that of the brave girl who had saved us and accepted her fate with eerie conviction and ease. I kneel down beside her and lay a gloved hand on hers._

_"__I wish you could have walked out of here, Maya," I tell her body, "and I'm sorry that I misjudged you." I look up at her people - at all of the people whom I'd killed. "I'm sorry I couldn't find a compromise. I don't want your forgiveness, or anyone's, really, but ... it doesn't change the fact that I'm sorry that you died at my hand. You didn't deserve this."_

_"No, I didn't." _

_I whirl around, almost tripping over a corpse in my haste to stand. _

_Maya, skin unblemished and eyes solemn, stands before me, a small smile gracing her lips. "But it doesn't matter. You did what you had to do, Clarke. For your people."_

_I try to say something, but I'm stunned speechless._

_"With me, too." My eyes close. I don't have to turn to look to know whose voice that is, but I do anyway. "Finn," I manage to get out. "Why are you here?"_

_"You know why, Clarke. I'm part of the burden, remember? 'I bear it so they don't have to.' You did the best that you could every time, Clarke. You need to let go of the guilt. Remember us, and mourn us if you have to, but don't carry our deaths on your shoulders for the rest of your life. None of us want that, Clarke."_

_A chorus of voices rings out in support, and I can pick out some of the voices: Fox, Anya,__ Charlotte, Wells ... my father. Their words grow louder and louder and swim together, and I drop to my knees, overwhelmed -_

My eyes wrench open and a small gasp of air escapes me. My heart pounds in my chest for an indefinitely long moment as I adjust to reality. The first thing I register is the cold; I feel it gnawing at my extremities, and I see it in the wisps of vapour that spiral elegantly from my mouth as my breathing evens out. The second thing that catches my attention is the mosaic of colours peaking through the roof of my makeshift hut. It's just past dawn. Time to start the day.

It's been about two months since I spoke to Aliya, and several more since I left Camp Jaha. Winter is here in all its glory, and it has become more and more difficult to survive. Most animals are hidden away for hibernation, and so hunting has become problematic. My food supply has dwindled to a few strips of jerky despite strict rationing, although water is plentiful what with all the snow and ice around. Regardless of that, there's a hollowness in my stomach, and I can feel the tautness of the skin over my ribs. My wrists are bony, and through touch, I know that my cheeks have lost their roundness.

_I'm starving,_ I finally admit to myself. _I can't do this alone anymore._

There is no question in my mind of where I need to go. I can't make it to Camp Jaha like this - I'm weak and exhausted, and braving the rocky terrain between here and there is difficult enough at full strength, when the landscape _isn't_ riddled with hidden sheets of ice. I grimace as that thought draws attention to my tailbone - I fell hard on it during one of the first days, and if I didn't break it, which I'm fairly certain I did, then I at least bruised it badly enough for the pain to linger for a few weeks.

I do my best to ignore the ache and pack what few things I have left: the jerky, a couple weapons, a water canteen, some cloth, a needle - with no string to accompany it - and an empty flask. I roll up the large fur that I use as a rudimentary sleeping bag and manage to stuff it in the bag as well, though it proves difficult thanks to my numb fingers. It's a miracle that I haven't gotten any major frostbite; I've finally managed to master the art of the winter campfire, but at first, all I had were my furs, my body heat, and my little hut to block out some of the wind.

Without hesitation, I sling the straps over my shoulders and, on shaky legs, I set out, leaving my shelter behind. I pull my fur scarf closer around my lower face and my cloak tighter around my body.

Polis it is.

*_The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*__The100*_

Air rasps through my throat as I struggle to catch my breath. The muscles in my body seem to be cramping on a rotational basis, and my vision is starting to blur on intervals. I'm not sure that I have ever felt this tired in my life, and given all I've been through, that's saying something.

I've finally reached the top of the steep hillside above Polis, and from here the view is, in my pain, almost _mockingly_ beautiful. The trees of the forest are glistening in the faint sunlight; at first glance, they look like solid ice, and at the touch of the sun's rays, they cast rainbows into the frigid air around the capital. The city below is bustling with life despite the cold. I spot a group of children, decked out from head to toe in furs, running through the streets, tossing snow at each other; the huts and larger buildings alike are dusted with light coats of snow, like something out of one of the storybooks I used to read on the Ark; and a marketplace in the distance is crowded with members of the Tri Kru, laughing and bustling about, selling necessities and trinkets alike, by the looks of it.

Drawn in by the sight below, I take a step forward, and in my daze, my foot slips on a patch of snow-covered ice, and my heart freezes as I tip forward, bracing myself for the tumble.

The next thirty seconds are pain, confusion, and, well ... more pain.

Finally, I roll to a stop at the bottom of the hill, face down. The wind has been knocked right out of me, and I try to calm myself as I feel my adrenaline mount from my struggle for breath. All there is is agony.

Somewhere amid the pain, I register the sound of snow crunching underfoot, and I try to raise an arm to reach for my knife, but instead let out a choked moan of pain. It's definitely broken, and goodness knows what else is as well.

I hear someone kneel beside me, and then feel small hands take a gentle but firm grasp of shoulders and roll me over. This sends another wave of fiery torture through my limbs and back and I cough out a groan, still gasping shallowly from the force of the impact of my fall. My vision swims at the sheer intensity of the pain, and the last thing I can make out before the darkness descends is a pair of familiar green eyes looking into mine in shock.


	5. Chapter 4: Reunion

**A/N: Hello again, everyone. Not much to update you on this week, so without further ado, let's proceed to the chapter. If I did this right, it's a bit of a gut-wrencher. I think an angst warning is necessary. XD Regardless, I hope you enjoy it!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

The first thing that I notice as I regain consciousness is the warmth. I have not been this comfortable in months.

Without opening my eyes, I take in what I can of my surroundings. The surface underneath my body is supple and soft, and I have been covered in some kind of fur - a blanket, it would seem. I have no desire to move; my body, although warm and more rested than it has been in months, feels depleted of strength, and the comfort of my current position is almost enough to lull me back into a slumber.

But then my hearing kicks in, and I pick up a quiet melody being hummed somewhere in close proximity. My eyes snap open, and I immediately reach for my knife, groaning as a reminder of the state of my arm courses through me in the form of sharp, clear pain. Regardless, I push through the agony and my hand reaches my hip, only to find my knife and holster absent.

"Relax, Clarke of the Sky People. You are safe now."

The voice is instantly recognizable, and I quickly move to sit, hackles raised, gritting my teeth against the pain provoked by the abrupt movement.

"_Lexa_," I spit through my clenched jaw. "So we _do _meet again."

She is seated on a plain, wooden chair a few feet from my bed. We are in a tent, alone, but I can see the silhouettes of the shadows of her guardsmen on the fabric. Her face is unpainted, and she is dressed in a minimalist tunic and pair of pants without any of the usual armour adorning her figure. The image she presents now stands in sharp contrast to that of her at our last meeting; in my head, I can see the black warpaint smeared across the middle of her face, spots of dried blood as added decoration, and her full battle gear, ceremonial armour and all. _I understand,_ I think to myself. _It's purposeful. She wants to placate me. _The thought only makes me angrier.

Her clear green eyes pierce mine, analyzing my demeanour - always analyzing. "Yes, Clarke." She stands, turning away from me to pace. "I was most surprised to find you like I did. You were on the verge of starvation, Clarke." Her head turns so that she can shoot me a look of admonishment. "And you were not far from freezing to death, either. Not to mention your injuries. Broken limbs, fractured ribs - I imagine some from your fall, and some from other experiences. You would not have survived much longer."

I shoot her a dark look. "Yes, I'm aware. That's why I finally came here. I was hoping to find a woman named Aliya. We met in the forest a while back -" I stop as a thought crosses my mind. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"A week," Lexa replies, her expression impassive. "Enough time for Nyko to be brought in from Tondc. I figured that you would prefer to be tended to by someone that you knew while you recover."

"I am not staying here," I growl at her. "I do not want your hospitality. I will find Aliya; she owes me a debt and I intend to let her pay it. It will allow me to break all ties with this place. After I am recovered, I will leave Polis, and I will not return."

"I would not be so hasty, Clarke," Lexa replies. "You have many injuries, and while you are an excellent healer, it would be best to let another tend to them, especially the ones that you cannot reach on your own. I understand your animosity towards me, and I accept it, but please, do not let your adverse feelings stand in the way of your recovery."

I can't argue with her logic and I hate myself for it. My mind races, and I'm tempted to be stubborn and stand my ground, but I know that it won't do any good. I can feel the trauma I took to my back, and I know that I'm going to need help with it. _Damn her,_ I think to myself. Aliya won't be of any use; she's a hunter, not a healer.

A moment passes before I let out a huff of resignation. "Fine, Lexa_._ _Yu win au._" She looks at me in surprise and I raise my chin. Through instruction from Octavia (before the missile hit Tondc, of course; she barely spoke to me after that, and never willingly, except maybe to pick a fight) and careful attention to some of the Tri Kru warriors' discussions, I've managed to pick up some basic Trigedasleng. After all, I'm nothing if not a quick study.

I lay back on the bed with a groan and close my eyes, but I can feel Lexa's gaze burning my skin. "I'll stay for now," I tell her. "But tell me one thing. Do you regret it?" I open my eyes and turn my head so that I can meet her stare with my own. "Do you ever look back on that moment when you took Emerson and Cage's deal and wish that you had made another decision? Do you ever think of the Skaikru, _my people,_ and realize that their blood would have been on your hands if I hadn't succeeded, and on mine as well?" The volume of my voice is rising with my ire. I don't allow her to answer, though, I just continue with my tirade. "You know, that's what kills me the most. You almost made me the woman who let 47 of my own, and my mother, _**and**_ the crew sent to help them ... die. _I _was the one who put faith in you. _I _was the one who told Bellamy that the alliance was worth it. _I _was the one, along with the help of my people, who got you to that door, and in a position where we could have gotten our people out together. YES, with loss, but still! And," my voice drops from a near shout to a hiss of a whisper, "I was the one who enabled you to make that deal, to get that far. To betray us. _It was my fault._

"You told me that love is weakness, Lexa, but you were wrong. _Trust_ is weakness. Or at least, it's mine. Without foundation, sooner or later, it always ends with a knife to the back. Trust is something that should be earned, and I gave it out much too freely. I gave it to _you,_ knowing what you were - or rather, what you _are _like, what your priorities were. I should have known better. And that is on me. I hate you, Lexa, but it is nothing -" I grit my teeth, "**_nothing_** compared to how much I hate myself." By this point, tears are streaming down my face. I feel as if my chest is about to burst from pent-up emotion: hurt, rage, betrayal, grief. They intermingle and threaten to overwhelm me, and I put them all into my gaze, directing them through my eyes at the young woman in front of me as though doing so could force her to bear the agony in my place.

She stares back at me as I rage at her, and I watch as, throughout my little speech, she desperately clings to the stoic mask that is just as much a piece of her protection as any of the armour she dons for battle. Her eyes betray her, though, as they often do. She can school her features perfectly, but her eyes have always been her tell. Right now, they are anguished and welling with tears, and it gives me a vicious wave of satisfaction to know that I've at least cracked her facade that much.

"Clarke..." she says, her voice shaking, but I interrupt her, tone ferocious despite my sobs.

"I don't want to hear your reasoning, Lexa. I know why you did it. I know it wasn't personal. I know that it was for your people. But that doesn't mean I forgive you. I put my trust in you, and all your talk of "the Sky People marching with us now". I thought that you felt as Lincoln did, and as I said - that we were each other's people. Obviously, I was wrong.

"You have betrayed me in the worst possible way and the least you can do now is leave me alone." I turn away from her and with the absence of her eyes as targets for it, my rage subsides some, leaving grief to rush forward in its place. My crying intensifies and sadness wracks my broken body as I curl up on the bed, waiting for the world to swallow me whole. I feel frail, and weary, and disgusted with myself.

I hear Lexa take a few steps and then stop. I'm about to yell at her to get the hell out when she beats me to the chase and, with in weakest tone I've ever heard from her, she says, "I deserve every bit of your anger, Clarke." She pauses for a moment, and then adds shakily, "I do regret my actions, despite knowing that I had my people's best interests at heart, and I do not know what I would do, were I able to go back and face the choice again. But what I regret most of all is that I hurt you. For that," her voice cracks and her breath quickens, "I am truly sorry."

She sweeps out of the tent, and I feel the hysteria tighten its grasp on my chest. Tremors rock through me as I bite down on my fist to stifle my cries, letting my misery exhaust me until, finally, I am pulled under the veil and fall into an uneasy rest.


	6. Chapter 5: Polis

**A/N: Hello, everyone. I apologize for the wait, but the good news is that now that my exam period is over, I will be returning to my usual schedule of updating twice weekly. Without further ado, here is your long awaited chapter. I struggled a bit to get this one out, for whatever reason, so I hope it's satisfactory. I made it longer than usual - I felt that there was a lot of ground to cover.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100. It belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

**_Clarke POV_**

I let out a groan, trying to hold on to the first dreamless night of rest I've had in a very long time - but it's too late, of course. Sunlight is seeping in through the flap entrance to the tent, and I roll over in protest as it stings my eyes, grumbling under my breath and trying to nestle deeper into my cocoon of warmth. After several minutes, I finally surrender to the start of the day and push back my blankets, stretching and letting out an unabashed yawn.

It's been around two or three months since I arrived at Polis and I am finally fully recovered. I never expected to stay for this long; I'd planned to leave as soon as I could walk without a limp. I guess I underestimated the temptation of a comfortable bed, a safe - and warm - place to stay, and the company of others.

I roll out of bed and onto my feet, glancing at the lone mirror off to one side of the tent. It wasn't there the first day I awoke after my fall, and I didn't see it brought in. Part of me knows who really thought of that detail, but I'm still trying to convince myself that it was one of the attendants. I don't want to think about _her, _but when I'm not distracted or in someone's company, the thoughts cloud my mind regardless. I can't get the image of her eyes out of my head. Damn their expressiveness straight to the _pits_ of hell. If I'd never seen the conflict in the clear green of her irises - the sadness, the defensiveness, the pain - perhaps I'd still be able to hate her.

I'm still angry at her, of course, and I still feel betrayed. But seeing her again, and spending time here - it's changed my opinion of her. I remember her saying, before everything changed between us, that Polis would change my perception of the Tri Kru, show me a different side of them. I think she was talking about herself as well; because I've heard how the people here speak of her. They are in awe of her, respect her, look to her for guidance and protection - and they _love _her. Aliya has shown me that much.

And thank goodness for Aliya; she has done absolutely anything and everything to keep me comfortable and occupied, despite my initial bad attitude. The sense of camaraderie between us that started in the woods that day months ago has evolved into a strong friendship.

On my second conscious day here, I awoke to find her sitting on the ground in the middle of the tent, braiding her long, dark hair with nimble fingers.

**_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100*_**

_"Heya, Clarke of the Sky People," she said. _

_"Aliya!" I smiled at her and moved to sit up, grimacing and favouring my left arm. "It's good to see a familiar face."_

_"Apart from the Heda's, you mean," she replied wryly. I glowered at her, biting my tongue to keep from providing more fodder for that line of thought. She chuckled at my glare, not fazed in the least. "She came and found me, you know, and I'm not the only Aliya in the city. It must have taken the Heda a good while to track me down." I kept silent. "Almost no one knows that you are here, Clarke. The Heda kept it a secret. Only your guards, the attendants, and Nyko and I know, apart from her. She wanted you to be able to decide for yourself whether to make your presence known here."_

_"How generous of her," I replied, a tinge of hostility in my voice. Guilt rattled from the place where I'd stowed it away in my mind, with all the thoughts of my mother, Mount Weather, the Arkers, and the remaining of the 100; I ruthlessly stifled it. "Can we talk about something else, please?"_

_Aliya's mirth faded, and she nodded curtly. "How are you feeling?" she asked, concern filling her dark eyes._

_It was my turn to laugh. "Like hell warmed over," I said, and she cocked her head to the side at the expression. "Not well," I clarified. "I feel weak, Aliya; I hate feeling weak. And my arm will keep me from doing things for awhile."_

_"Why not use your other one?" she replied. _

_"What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered, "I'm left-handed." _

_It was her turn to look confused. She opened her mouth to say something, and then appeared to think better of it. Understanding flooded her features. "Our people learn to use both their hands from an early age; it is a great advantage for the warriors." I nod in understanding - that would definitely be useful. "I suppose you will have to start to learn now," Aliya said, grinning at me. _

_I laughed. "I suppose so."_

_*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100*_

_A couple of weeks later, we were thick as thieves. Aliya came by to see me everyday; as she warmed up to me, she taught me more and more about Polis and the people there. She helped me practice fine motor skills with my right hand while my left arm was still in its sling, even going so far as to have mock sword fights with me (all of which she won, of course, though I put up a good fight after a month or two). In between those sessions, she taught me some more Trigedasleng, and, in what started as an exercise to help me learn to speak the language more quickly, we ended up swapping stories of our respective childhoods, her interrupting me occasionally to offer a correction._

_Eventually, she showed me how to blend in with the crowds of Polis._ _First, she brought me pants, furs, and tunics, some plain and some beautifully embroidered with coloured yarn. When I protested, she waved me off, saying "Shof op, Klark. You gave me what I needed when you only had the contents of that pack as your own; disha nou laik biga diyo." Next, she brought me over to the mirror and taught me how to braid my hair depending on the occasion. It turns out there are different acceptable styles for everyday life, battle, funerals, and celebrations. One thing that was becoming quickly apparent to me was that the culture of the Tri Kru - I rarely ever thought of them as "Grounders" anymore - was rich, vibrant, and complicated. _

_Applying face paint was something that I took to with ease, especially as my arm healed and I was able to use my dominant hand to decorate my skin. The colours, the shapes, the type of paint - I soaked in everything that I could about the technique and the significance, the artist in me revelling in the new media. I finally told Aliya about my drawing, and predictably, she came to my tent the next morning with a rudimentary sketchbook, some charcoal sticks, a large pot of ink, and a selection of feather quills. I'd been filling the book up ever since._

_*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100*_

_Equipped with my new knowledge and apparel, I was able to leave my tent for the first time since my arrival, which I'd not done until then for fear of being recognized by one of those not sworn to secrecy by_ her._ Despite Aliya's assurances that the stories going around about me were largely told in a positive light, I still felt uncomfortable with the idea of going out in the streets of Polis dressed as the people here knew me - as a Sky Person, as the leader of the Sky People. I was enjoying my privacy too much, for one thing, and while I didn't exactly fear for my safety, I knew well enough from my experience with Quint that some might still hold the dropship fire against me. _

_All that in mind, I donned my new clothing, painted my face, lifted the hood of my cloak to cover my blonde hair (a dead giveaway, Aliya had warned me), and exited the tent at last, revelling in the newfound mobility that anonymity allowed me. I was immediately drawn to the marketplace and its bustle of activity. I browsed endlessly, but rarely bought anything at first, having nothing to trade. That changed one day, though, when I was approached by a small girl as I sat outside a tavern, sketching away. She was too shy to say anything, but she did eye the drawing that I was working on of a merchant woman at a stall nearby, her expression one of keen interest. She stood and watched as I finished it, and once I had, she smiled and looked up at me with admiration in her eyes. Something about her reminded me of Charlotte, and before I knew it, I'd torn the page with the illustration out of my sketchbook and held it out to her. She beamed at me and gently took the sheet of paper, and before I could protest, pressed an intricate beaded bracelet into my palm and ran off. _

_Inspiration struck._

_Come spring, I'd set up my own little booth in the marketplace, which I'd go to after Aliya left me around mid-afternoon for the hunt. I drew portraits of people I'd seen in the city, of some of the creatures that I'd encountered in the forest, and of the various landscapes of Earth that had stuck with me. When they were finished, they were tacked to the walls of the booth with pins to be considered by passersby. My booth became surprisingly popular, and I used what trinkets and bobbles I earned to trade for more paper and drawing supplies, as well as the occasional piece of clothing. I tried to insist to one of my "Heda-appointed" attendants that I could pay for my own food now, but he firmly refused, saying that _she _insisted that my meals be provided for me. I fumed about that comment for days, but at the urging of Aliya, I eventually let it slide._

_And so, I spent my mornings and middays in my tent learning, and afternoons and evenings selling my pictures in the marketplace and blending in with the crowd._

_*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100*_

_A frequent contributor to my lessons and a soon welcome addition to mine and Aliya's conversations was Nyko. I'd never expected to become friends with the gruff healer; we had only ever interacted in really tense situations (the whole disaster with Finn, for one thing, Lincoln's withdrawal recovery during the early stages of the peace process, for another, and Gustus's betrayal with the poison, to add insult to injury) so needless to say, we hadn't exactly had the chance to get to know one another. When I thought about it, though, it made sense. We were both healers, both grudging but natural leaders, and both drawn to helping others and used to seeing horrible things. We were bound to be kindred spirits._

_It started off as a few mumbled exchanges when he came in during mid-morning each day to check on the progress of my recovery. Gradually, we began to share medical knowledge, each profiting from the other's very different expertise. Sarcastic remarks and dry humour slid their way into the conversations, and a certain degree of familiarity grew between us as time passed. Eventually, one day, he walked in on Aliya and I duelling playfully around the tent, and offered his own critique of my form to Aliya's. Just like that, a trio was formed; Nyko and Aliya taught and shared with me what they could, and I reciprocated where I was able with stories and knowledge from the Ark. _

_The time flew by as my injuries healed, my strength was recovered and perhaps even added to, and my mind grew more peaceful. Several memorable moments filled the months. One time, for instance, I taught Nyko CPR using Aliya as a living dummy, which led to some amusing and awkward fumbles that were uncharacteristic on both of their parts. A few days later, I caught them holding hands as they left my tent to attend to their duties, and I smiled to myself in triumph. Another time, Aliya and I challenged Nyko to a play fight, and while he'd trounced me in minutes, Aliya had him beat in half an hour, at which time I grabbed her and we danced around the tent shouting happily about victory in Trigedasleng until Nyko left the tent in a pretend fit. _

_They kept me happy and busy, that's for sure. But I knew - somehow, I knew - that the things that I'd been trying to run away from would catch up with me eventually._

**_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100_****_*The100*_**

I'm startled from my trance by the howl of the wind, and immediately am glad that I brought back all of my drawings from the booth last night to stow away safely in my clothes-trunk. The light from the entrance to the tent has dimmed; I wouldn't be surprised if a storm is on its way. The weather in Polis can be very unpredictable in the spring, or so Aliya tells me.

I get changed from my bedclothes into one of my only dresses, because I know that I will likely be inside all day, and throw on a fur vest for warmth. I then sidle over to sit in front of the mirror, and for the next half hour, I hum to myself as I braid my hair back and paint my face.

I hear the flap of my tent being pushed aside as I scrub the skin of my hands free of blue and black paint in a basin of murky water. As I turn, a smile starts to pull at my lips, and I open my mouth to greet the person I assume to be either Aliya, Nyko, or one of the attendants I have come to know and like. Then, I get a glimpse of the figure at the mouth of the tent, and instantly, I whirl back to face the wash basin, my back turned to my visitor.

"Clarke."

My eyes close as if to contain the burst of emotion in my chest that flares at the sound of her voice.

"_Leksa,_" I reply after a moment. "Why are you here?" I ask, surprising myself with the neutrality of my tone.

"We need to talk," she says, equally calm. _So the facade has made a reappearance,_ I think to myself. "I figured that I should warn you in person ... your people - the _Skaikru _\- they are sending a delegation here, to Polis."

**A/N: Please review if you can spare the time. I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions. Keep in mind: the future of this fic is _not_ set in stone, so you could have an impact on my decisions, although I make no promises ;-)**

**Translations:**

**"Shof op" - Be quiet  
"Disha nou laik biga diyo" - This is no big deal**


	7. Chapter 6: Acceptance

**A/N: Hi all! Here's the next chapter. It picks up right where we left off, instead of there being a time jump, which is what I normally seem to do XD It's another long one. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, and look out for the next update, because it will be out sometime tomorrow. This is really part one of two of an enormous chapter that I felt the need to split up. I wanted to get to the reunion of Clarke and whomever from the Ark is coming as delegates ;-) but I didn't want to rush the pacing, so we will get to that in the next update (tomorrow).**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to the CW and Jason Rothenberg. No copyright infringement is intended._

**_Clarke POV_**

_Deep breath, Clarke. Deep breath._

I feel all the muscles in my shoulders simultaneously tense and curl into knots.

_Deep breath._

"What are you expecting from me, Lexa?" I can't help but be impressed that I managed to keep my voice level. "Do you want me to act as some kind of ambassador?"

"I do not expect anything from you, Clarke," she replies. I turn to look at her, one brow raised skeptically. "Truly," she insists. "You can remain in your quarters for the duration of their visit; you can continue with your usual routine and let fate decide whether or not you are recognized; you can visit with any among the Skaikru you wish; you can take an active role in the proceedings... I am leaving it up to you." Her gaze is steady.

I stare at her for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright," I say. "_Mochof_." The word tastes bitter in my mouth. I turn away and, finished cleaning my hands of face paint, I dry them on a thin cloth. A question pops into my head and I feel like slapping myself for not asking it sooner. "What are they coming to discuss?"

I can feel her eyes on my back in the silence that follows. "Lexa?" I ask, wary of her hesitance.

"Have you heard the rumours in the marketplace, Clarke? Surely, you must have."

I turn to face her again, struggling to hold on to my patience. "Jos_** tel ai op**,_ Leksa," I implore her, emotion finally creeping into my voice. _Just tell me._ Her breath catches, and this time, she is the one to turn away. She begins a slow pace, clearly deciding what she is willing to share with me. I take the opportunity to observe her; unlike the last time I saw her, her face is painted. Red, gold, and black, I notice. The colours of command. She is not wearing her armour today, but she is dressed in fine leather, and her hair is done in the celebration style, as is mine. It's the week of the spring equinox, and the Tri Kru have a week long festival leading up to it, filled with feasts, concerts, dances, parties, and storytelling events.

A moment passes, and then she sighs. "The _Azgeda - _the Ice Nation - is causing trouble yet again." Her tone is a mixture of thinly veiled hatred and dread. "Everyday, it seems more likely that the Coalition is going to dissolve. We have at least six of the clans secured as allies if it does, but the rest are in danger of being swayed to the Ice Nation's allegiance."

"What does this have to do with my people?"

"In your absence, a peace treaty was made between our peoples, one more formal than that which we had during the war with the Mountain Men." Lexa glances over to gauge my reaction, but I keep my expression impassive, taking a leaf out of her book. She continues, "Your mother and your lieutenant, Bellamy, wanted nothing to do with me or any of my representatives at first, but Marcus Kane was more pragmatic. He managed to convince them that a treaty would allow your people less uncertainty in terms of their security, and that that was what was needed most after..." She trails off, but I nod at her to keep going, determined to be professional. "It took a few months, but we ended up agreeing on an ... elaborate ... set of terms.

"This is where we come back to what's going on with the Coalition," she explains. "The fact that the Skaikru is allied with us formally now has consequences should war break out. Even if your people wished to remain neutral," Lexa's eyes pierce mine, "the Ice Nation would target them. They will not take the risk of leaving such a great potential threat untouched simply because of a declaration of neutrality, because they know that such things change very quickly in wartime."

I close my eyes again as I feel the mounting stress in my system beginning to gnaw at my muscles. Without even sparing a glance for Lexa, I walk across the room and sit at my mirror, head in hands almost immediately and elbows on the simple vanity. Every part of me protests at the thought of another war; my mind is practically screeching in consternation.

"Haven't we been through enough?" I mutter under my breath. I raise my head and twist my body so that I can look at Lexa; I need to make sure that she isn't lying to me when I ask her the question ringing through my head.

"Get Skaikru in, Leksa?" I demand quietly in Trigedasleng. The implications in my tone are clear. _Do my people know?_ _Did you let them know what they were getting into when you got them to sign the treaty, or will you once again be the cause of our suffering because of a breach of trust?_

Immediately, Lexa responds, "Sha." _Yes. _"I made sure that they understood the implications of the treaty, Clarke. I will not wrong your people again. We are - or one day, with any luck, we will be - friends in peacetime, and we are allies in wartime. Without question. I made sure of it." Her mask has broken, and her eyes are at it again. The raw honesty there is astounding, as is the desperation. Her eyes are saying something that she would never, could never, voice aloud. They are _begging_ me to understand, to accept her words as truth - to put aside the past.

A lump raises in my throat and my eyes prick with tears, but I force myself not to let them fall. I give her a jerky nod of my head.

"Thank you," she breathes. I nod again and we descend into silence for a moment.

I stand and walk over to her, with what I'm sure is resignation on my face. "I thought it was over, you know," I tell her. "This life here, with Nyko and Aliya, and the marketplace ... it made me think that I could be _normal_ for once. That I could lead a peaceful life again.

"But it's never really going to be over, is it?" Lexa looks at me, understanding in her eyes. "And my people ... they're going to need me again." She doesn't say anything, but her expression confirms her agreement.

"And you know what else, Leksa? Despite everything that's happened between us, I've grown to love this place, and the way of life here, and I've realized something. Yu kru ste ai kru, bilaik Skaikru ste ai kru." _Your people are my people, just as the Sky People are._ "And because of that, I can't _not_ be involved in the proceedings if given the chance," I sigh, "And I can't hide myself anymore. So I will stand by you when they arrive, and I will act as a mediator if necessary."

A wide smile lights up Lexa's face. She reaches her arm out, and I grasp it, as is Trigeda custom. "Mochof," she says, her green eyes shining, "Klark kom Tu Kru."

_Clarke of Two Peoples_, I think, and a smile breaks out on my face. _I like it._

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

The next day, when I go to my booth in the marketplace, I go without my cloak, but otherwise dressed as I would normally be. Before leaving, I'd looked at myself resolutely in the mirror, and reflexively, I'd raised a hand to touch my yellowish hair. _Let's tempt fate,_ I thought to myself.

I am hanging up a new set of drawings when I hear the gasp.

I whirl around and brace myself, only to find that I'm face to face with one of my more frequent customers, who is staring at me in awe. "Klark kom Skaikru?" she breathes, her hazel eyes wide.

_Deep breath, Clarke._

With great trepidation, I find myself nodding. She begins to walk towards me and I'm about to reach for my knife when she holds out her arm to take mine, a smile blooming almost beatifically on her face.

"Ai houmon ste klir gon yu," she tells me. _My husband is safe because of you._ "Mochof, en mounin. Ai laik Maria."

After recovering from a bout of shock, I reply, "Hei Maria, en mochof," and I can feel an incredulous and hopeful smile spreading on my own face.

By now, a crowd has formed to watch the exchange, and I look around, setting my face in a neutral expression but feeling like a mess of nerves inside. The expressions of the people surrounding me are mixed; some look awed, some confused, some fiercely wary, and others, simply happy.

Suddenly, a small figure pushes past the edge of the crowd and runs forward, stopping just in front of me. Immediately, I recognize her as the girl who gave me the idea for the booth in the first place. I can't help myself from beaming, and I crouch down so that I can be at her eye level. "Hei, goufa," I say to her softly. _Hello, child._

Her eyes search my face curiously for a moment, and she reaches out a tentative hand to touch one of my braids. I hear an intake of breath from the crowd; touching someone else's hair, Aliya taught me, is an act of familiarity in Trigeda custom, and to do so to a stranger is highly frowned upon, a breach of personal space.

Instead of being offended, I am touched. This little girl trusts me. My smile widens.

The girl grins back at me, and offers her arm. I grasp it gently, and her eyes light up in delight as my sleeve is pulled back by the movement, revealing the bracelet she gifted to me. She laughs happily, her eyes awed. "Yu laik Klark kom Skaikru?" she asks hopefully.

I nod, still smiling at her. "Sha," I reply. "En yu?"

"Onya," she replies. My heart stutters in my chest, but I keep my face as open as possible. "Heya, Onya," I say, and the girl throws herself into my arms in a hug. After my momentary surprise, I wrap my arms around her and scoop her up, shifting her in my arms so that I can stand and support most of her weight on my hip.

I finally look back up at the crowd, and I'm still smiling at the open welcome of this little girl, Onya; I can't help but marvel at the irony, that the little girl who would so gladly accept me would bear the same name as the woman who fought me tooth and nail before I finally earned her respect. Everyone in the crowd stares at me in shock except Maria, who smiles back at me.

I use the silence to say, "Beja, ai nou gaf gonplei." _Please,_ _I don't want a fight._ "Ai ste lukot kom Trigedakru, kom Heda." _I am a friend of your people, of the Commander._

A few smiles pop up here and there and the people of the crowd turn to each other and whisper amongst themselves. I see a lot of terse nods, and then many step forward to greet me, one by one. "Mounin, Klark," is repeated to me several times, as well as the occasional, "Hello, Golden Wolf" or, "Welcome, Sky Princess," the latter of which makes me blush the first time I hear it. _Thanks, Finn,_ I think to myself, _I'm still putting up with that damn nickname._ Onya wraps her arms around my neck so that one arm is free to perform the traditional greeting. Introductions take up the next half hour.

Eventually, the crowd in front of my booth disperses, with the exception of those who wish to buy my drawings. Some are more wary of me now, but as soon as we begin to talk business, they relax and delve into the normal patterns of banter. Onya disappears for a few minutes while I'm waiting on customers, and returns with two chairs for the booth and some tarp to cover them at the end of the day. She chats with me in the lulls between visitors, her enthusiasm infectious, and watches me whenever I get the rare chance to do some sketching. My booth is busier than usual today; the news of whom the artist on the south side of the marketplace actually is seems to have spread. Some people stop by simply to greet me and introduce themselves, and others speak with me and ask questions about how I came to be here and how my stay has been.

There are a few unpleasant happenstances too, despite the majority being pleasant. One woman who steps up to the booth is extremely hostile, and begins to blame me for the death of her husband at the battle of the dropship, switching between Trigedasleng and _gonasleng -_ English - as she rants at me. Her hand is on the pommel of the sword at her hip, and she comes uncomfortably close to me, practically spitting with rage.

Out of nowhere, Onya - sweet little Onya! - pulls a _knife_ out of her boot and moves between me and my aggressor. "Bak yu op," she growls at the woman, who stares at her incredulously. Conflict washes over her face; she was clearly not counting on a child's presence. The people nearby are watching now, curious to see how I will handle this.

I step up to the side of my new young friend and put a hand on her shoulder. "Chil yu daun, Onya," I tell her gently. She looks up at me, conflicted, and then back at the woman, and her gaze hardens; nonetheless, she nods solemnly and steps back. I walk up until I am right in front of the woman, and I feel anger, sadness, and pity rise in my stomach.

"I am sorry for your husband's death, and for all the deaths that I caused that day," I say to her, "but I did what I had to do in order to protect my friends. I had tried for peace before that, but it was too early for both of our peoples to trust each other." She opens her mouth to interrupt, but I cut her off. "_Ai don s__hil a__i kru op. Bilaik yu en yu houmon don __souda. Ba nau, oso wor ste odon, den oso gonplei souda hod op." I protected my people. Just like you and your husband had to. But now, our war is over, so our fighting must stop."_

This calms her slightly; she takes her hand off of the pommel of her sword and relaxes her posture minutely. "I don't like you, Clarke of the Sky People, and I will never forgive what you did," she tells me, "but I can understand a leader's duty. I will leave you in peace for now; but if you ever turn on my people, _ai kru_, again ..." she spits on the ground in front of me, "ai na frag yu op." _I will kill you._

I nod sharply. "Ai get klin," I reply, my tone curt and jaw set. _I am sure of it._ In a fit of inspiration, I kick some dirt over the spit on the ground in front of me, without breaking eye contact with her. The woman's eyebrows lift in surprise. "Nau," I say, exasperated, "beja - gon yu we."

With one last glare, she turns on her heel and storms off. I stand my ground for a moment, raising an eyebrow at those watching. They nod at me in approval and respect, and I nod once in acknowledgement before turning back to my booth. Right away, Onya launches herself at me again and I catch her, pulling her into a hug. "Yumi ste klir nau, goufa," I tell her. _We're safe now, kid._

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

The rest of the day passes swiftly, as does the night. In the morning, I tell Aliya and Nyko all of what happened in the market, and they are happy for me.

"You couldn't have handled it better, Clarke," Aliya says, beaming with pride. "I've clearly taught you well." We all laugh.

"Truly, you have," I say, "both of you." I reach out my arms to them and they grasp them and surprise me by pulling me into a hug. A moment passes, and I pull back, trying to convey my gratitude through my gaze. "Mochof, ai lukot." _Thank you, my friends._

"Pro, Klark," they say together, smiling down at me; both are significantly taller, and remind me of that fact on a regular basis, too.

The sound of a throat clearing surprises us all, and as one, we turn to face the entrance of my tent. One of the attendants is there, clearly embarrassed to have disturbed the exchange.

"Heda Leksa ste hir, Klark," he tells me, and looks pointedly at Aliya and Nyko. I turn to face them apologetically, but they just smile, say a couple quick "Leida"'s, and exit the tent, hand-in-hand.

"Tel Leksa op komba raun," I say to the attendant, Daimen, and he nods and backs out. A moment later, Lexa enters.

"Your command of our language is getting to be quite impressive, Clarke," she tells me, and I give her a small, reserved smile.

"Mochof," I reply, a little mischief in my tone, and she smiles back at me. "But am I correct in assuming that you came here to do more than compliment my Trigedasleng, Lexa?"

She nods at me, and for the first time, I notice that she is fully decked out in traditional armour, although the paint on her face and style of her hair still reflect the Equinox festival. "Your people are about a half hour away from the headquarters," she tells me. "The scouts have spotted them over the hillside. Would you like to come and greet them with me?"

"I would," I reply. "Just let me change into something a little more appropriate." I'm wearing a simple pair of pants, a thin blue shirt, and a pair of hunting boots; not really appropriate for what is basically a war council meeting. "I will join you outside when I am ready."

Lexa inclines her head and walks swiftly out of the tent to wait.

I go through the wooden chest holding my clothes, searching carefully for something suitable. I come up with a pair of clean black boots, fine black leather leggings, and a beautifully embroidered tunic in green and blue. I don't want to wear red to appear presumptuous; I might have been the leader of my people once, but I no longer know my place with them. From my lessons with Aliya, I know that green is a colour that represents life and neutrality - like the trees in the forest, she would say - and from Nyko, I learned that blue is the colour of healers, which is why his tattoos were done with blue ink. I know that the colour choices will mean nothing to those from the Ark, but at least the Trigedakru will know where I stand.

Once I've changed, I go to my mirror and add a couple swirls of green to embellish the black and blue paint on my face. My hair is done in a celebration style, which normally might be a problem, but I decide to take Lexa's lead and leave it the way it is.

Quickly, I walk out of the tent and over to Lexa's side in the middle of a cluster of guards. She inspects me for a moment and then looks me in the eyes knowingly, but doesn't say anything apart from, "Let's go meet your people, Clarke."


	8. Chapter 7: Reunion, Again

**A/N: Here it is, as promised :-) Thank you to everyone for the wonderful feedback you've given me. It really does make my day. Enjoy!**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

Together, Lexa and I walk through the marketplace, and crowds begin to gather at the edge of the path through the booths. People call out, "Heda!" and "Klark!" and "Sky Princess!" and Lexa shoots me a look of surprise. As we walk, she says, "I see that my informants were understating things when they told me that you were well received in the marketplace yesterday."

I feel my cheeks burn slightly. "Yes, well, I think that I owe that in part to a young friend of mine."

"Yes, so I heard," Lexa replies, and I'm tempted to shoot her a dirty look, but I know better. It would be seen as disrespectful, and it will do me no good to disrespect the _Heda_ in public. Instead, I raise an eyebrow in polite curiosity. There was something in her tone that I want addressed.

"Is there something I should know about her?" I ask, and Lexa hesitates and then nods.

"Sha," she replies quietly, so that only I can hear, "ba nou nau." _Yes, but not now._

I nod in acquiescence, and my brow furrows; whatever it is must be serious, then. We continue to walk, coming to the edge of the cluster of forest left at the centre of Polis. A few minutes later, the procession comes to an abrupt halt and all I can do is stare in quiet wonder at the sight before me. We have reached the ruins of a tall red brick building, previously hidden by the trees; five large pillars hold up what remains of a cream coloured gable and dark blue roof, the sixth reduced to a jagged stump and dustings of rubble. As we walk up the steps and head inside, I can't help but think that it's quite impressive, despite - or maybe because of? - the damage it has endured.

Guards flank us as we walk through several hallways and then turn right into a vast conference room, and I stop for a moment in awe. The room is like something I've only seen in history books, with cream coloured arches, balconies, and more pillars. An extremely long table runs from one side of the room to the other, with seats running all down its sides, and several smaller circular tables are scattered throughout the room. Guards stand post at intervals along the walls and a table of refreshments sits to the side, laden with fruit, bread, cheese, and dried meats.

A hand on my back brings me out of my observational trance, and I look to my side to see Lexa smiling at me. "It was a shock for me too, the first time I saw it," she says gently. "But we need to greet my generals before your friends get here." As she says this, she gestures to the other end of the room, where another set of doors has opened and men and women are walking in.

I take a moment to suppress any of the lingering butterflies in the pit of my stomach, and then we are moving towards the line of generals that has now assembled.

When we reach them, Lexa steps forward. Before she can say anything, the generals shout, "Heda!" as one and clap their right hands over their hearts as a sign of respect. Even though I cannot see Lexa's face, I know that she is smiling at the gesture.

Her voice rings out, echoing against the tall ceiling of the room and effortlessly commanding attention. "Mounin, ai gonakru, ai lukot!" _Welcome, my warriors, my friends!_ "Osir ste hir ste ogud gon wor gon Azgeda." _We are here to be ready for war with the Ice Nation. _"Skaikru na komba raun hir, sis osir au osir strat. Beja, kamp raun hir taim emo glong osir op." _The Sky People will come here to help us with our plans. Please, wait here until they join us. _

Lexa then turns her head to glance at me and she waves me forward. As I approach her and settle at her side, she continues in Gonasleng, "Before I go to meet them, something else must be taken care of. _Gonakru, disha Kl__ark_. Some of you know her already as Klark kom Skaikru and her various epithets, but for the rest, let me introduce her.

"Klark was a prisoner in the Mountain with most of the Skaikru, but she escaped after discovering what the Mountain Men were doing to our people." Growls and muttered curses were uttered along the line before Lexa held up a hand to silence them. "She sought us out to make a truce, and made many sacrifices to secure our trust, knowing that both of our peoples needed each other to rescue our loved ones from the Mountain. She and her mother, who will join us shortly, taught our healers to bring the _Ripa_ back to sanity." Several of the generals' faces light up in awe at this piece of knowledge - not unlike Indra's had when mom resuscitated Lincoln. They begin to size me up more seriously, and I stand resolutely by Lexa, trying my hardest not to turn red. "Klark also sent her lieutenant, Bellamy, who will also be joining us, into the Mountain to send her information from the inside for us to use against the Mountain. Without her and the Skaikru under her leadership, thousands of our people would still be prisoners there, trapped in cages like _animals_.

"And when I made a choice to take a deal to save our people, a choice that required our army's surrender," she turns to look at me, green eyes shining in solemn admiration, "Klark liberated her people without our help and wiped out the Mountain Men in one fell swoop." Lexa turns back to the generals, a small smile on her face, as they stomped their feet against the ground in approval.

"Klark has been living among us in Polis for months, learning our ways and absorbing our culture. You can see that today, she comes dressed not only by our customs, but having knowingly humbled herself by her choice of apparel. She may think herself just a healer and an arbitrator," Lexa continues, her tone one of admonishment, "but she is much more than that. Tell your people, _ai lukot, _that the Sky Princess is one of us now, just as much as she is one of the Skaikru. And tell them," she turns to face me fully now, and her eyes pierce mine, "that from now on, she is to be addressed as Heda Klark, kom Tu Kru."

Stunned. I am completely stunned. _What the hell just happened? Did Lexa seriously just do that?_

If her generals are shocked, however, they do not show it. While I am still trying to recover use of my tongue so that I can say - I don't know, _something_ \- Lexa steps back and the generals salute me as they did her, once again calling out "Heda!"

I feel speechless, but as if someone else were controlling my body, I step forward to address the generals. "Mochof, gonakru. Osir kru na ste ridiyo lukot, en osir na gon raun Azgeda ogeda, Skaikru en Trigedakru." _Thank you, generals. Our peoples will be true friends, and we will face the Ice Nation as one, Sky People and Woods Clan._

The approval among the generals is unanimous, I note with a faint sense of relief, as they once again applaud in the Tri Kru way. Instinctively, I raise my right hand to my heart and give them a small incline of my head, and after a moment of shock, smiles break out among them.

The next few minutes is a blur of faces and names, as each of the generals steps forward and introduces themselves, and I make a concerted effort to commit them all to memory. When I have met everyone, Lexa and I excuse ourselves and make our way out of the room.

_*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100*_

Lexa stands just inside the small office where we are waiting, flanked by four guards and preparing to greet the delegates from the Ark; I am sitting at a table in the middle of the room, speaking quietly with Indra, who has just arrived from Tondc. Just as she is beginning to explain her village's involvement in the first war with the _Azgeda_, I hear Lexa's voice. "Welcome," she is saying, "I am glad that you could come."

Indra stops talking and turns towards the door, and I move to stand.

A voice speaks out in answer, so familiar that it hurts, and says, "Hello, Commander; thank you for having us. If you don't mind my asking, why are we meeting here instead of in the conference room?"

I can practically hear the smile in Lexa's voice as she replies. "Well, Chancellor, we have something to attend to before we join my generals there." Without further ado, Lexa moves to the side, and my heart throbs in my chest as my people - my _family -_ walk through the door.

Immediately, my mother breathes out an incredulous, "Clarke?!" and before I can blink, I am practically tackled by Raven. She hugs me tightly, and I put a hand against the back of her head in comfort as I clutch her, her chest heaving against mine. "I missed you so _much_,_"_ she whispers to me. _"Damn it, _Clarke - we didn't even know if you were alive."

I pull back to look at her, still holding her arms, and the sight of her tears nearly sets me off, too. "I missed you, too, Raven," I tell her, my voice hoarse with emotion, "More than you could know. But I just couldn't be there. I hope you can understand that."

She sniffs and gives me a watery smile. "Of course," she says, squeezing my hand.

All of the sudden, my mother is beside Raven, tear tracks coating her cheeks. For a moment, we just take each other in; _she looks healthy,_ I think, relieved. _Healthy and strong._ Then, I'm in her arms. I don't know how long we stay like that; all I am focussed on is her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. _She's okay. She recovered. Cage failed._

Finally, she pulls back to hold me at arms length. "I love you so much, sweetheart," she says, and lets go of one of my arms so that she can wipe at her eyes, "and I'm so glad that you're okay. But please - don't ever pull a stunt like that again."

I give a shaky laugh. "No promises," I tell her, my voice still gravelly as hell, and I'm rewarded with a watery chuckle and a fond shake of the head.

"My turn," a voice calls out, and I'm stunned to see Octavia approach. She ignores my surprise and walks forward until she's right in front of me. With a happy smirk, she takes in my appearance, braids, paint, and all - not unlike her own - and says knowingly, "Heya, Klark." Then, she surprises me again, and holds out her arm, Trigeda style. I blink, and then slowly reach out and grasp it, allowing her to pull me into an embrace. "We're cool, Clarke," she whispers. "Lexa told me what you did to protect me. I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you; I didn't understand."

This pushes me over the edge, and the first tear spills from my eyes. I bat it away with a hand before it can smear my face paint. We both step back, and I give her a tentative smile. "Glad you're okay," I tell her.

She grins at me, knowing by my tone that she's forgiven, and remembering the words. Just like I once did, she replies, "You too."

"We've got a lot to talk about," I note after a moment, glancing over at Indra, who is currently speaking contentedly with Lincoln. I've noticed the scar on Octavia's neck, and I know all about Lincoln's insubordination. How the hell they're here, being greeted in such a friendly manner, I have no idea - but I'm incredibly grateful, regardless.

"Yes," Octavia says, looking me up and down again, "we do."

A deeper voice cuts in. "Hey little sister - quit hogging Clarke."

Laughing, I look up into the tan, freckled face of my best friend. "Bellamy," I say, needing no other words, and I launch myself into his arms, laugh intensifying as I'm suddenly reminded of Onya.

"It figures," he says, after pressing a kiss to my hair, "that you, being one of three of the most important women in my life, would go Grounder too."

I chuckle as I pull back, soaking in his smile. "Missed you, Bell."

"Missed you too, Princess. I hope you found some answers while you were gone, because I don't think any of us are going to let you go quite so easily this time."

I smile at him, and then something he said registers in the back of my head. "One of three?" I ask, one eyebrow raised.

"I'll introduce you to her when I can," he replied. "We met in the Mountain - cage neighbours." He grins at me. "I think you two'll get along."

I must be beaming now. I give him another quick hug and whisper in his ear, "I'm happy for you, Bell." And I truly am.

Lincoln comes over once Bellamy and I have separated and gives me a warm smile. "Hei, Klark," he says, and we grasp each other's arms.

"Heya, Linkon," I reply, smiling up at him, "It's good to see you."

He laughs at the undercurrent in my tone. "In one piece, I know," he says, "It still surprises me sometimes. Oh - by the way - I thought you'd like to know," he continues more seriously, "Cage made it out of the bunker, but he didn't get far on land. He'll never trouble us again."

I tighten my grasp on his arm as gratitude and relief sweep through me. "Mochof, ai lukot," I say and his smile widens.

"Trigedasleng, Clarke," he comments, a playful tone in his voice, "You've been busy."

I smile mischievously at him. "Yes, I have," I say, "but let's save that story for another time." I look around at everyone and Lexa catches my eye; we exchange a look and she nods at me in agreement. "We should join the generals," I conclude. "We can catch up properly afterward." My family members, blissful in reunion, smile and agree.

"Lead the way, Heda Lexa," I exclaim, and she smiles at me before her mask slips back into place.

"Gladly," she replies, and one by one, we file out of the room.


	9. Chapter 8: People

**A/N: Hello, all! Here's your next installment :-) The one after this will be out sometime tomorrow/later today depending on where you are in the world - I actually wrote it out before this chapter, so it's already in the editing stage. Enough of my rambling - I hope you enjoy the story.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100. It belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Clarke POV**_

In the war council meeting, I mostly sit and listen. Aliya has told me a little about the Ice Nation, and of course, I've heard of the Ice Queen's cruelty from Lexa, but what they've shared with me barely scratches the surface. The _Azgeda_ and the _Trigedakru_, it turns out, have been at war for the better part of 50 years. In that time, they'd only been able to attain some measure of peace when united by a common enemy, which explains why the _Kongeda_ \- the Coalition - has begun to break up in the absence of the Mountain Men.

Once the important events in the history between the two clans have been fleshed out by Lexa and a couple of the generals, the meeting turns to strategy. Lexa beckons to an attendant, who scurries forward to hand her a large roll of papyrus; she lays it out on the table, revealing a large map that depicts the territories of the Skaikru, the Trigeda, and the Azgeda.

"Now we must decide how to organize our forces," Lexa says as she stands at the head of the table. "My generals and I have spoken at length about this already, but we require your input, Chancellor, delegates, to determine the Skaikru's role in the conflict." She gestures to a man named Deivid, waving him forward.

"The Ice Nation's territory is to the North of us, on the other side of Mount Weather," the general begins, and Lexa's lips purse as if she'd just tasted something sour. "This puts your people in Camp Jaha in closer proximity to them, should they decide to brave the mountainside.

"However, their more likely strategy will be to cross this valley," Deivid points out the spot on the map, "between Mount Weather and the neighbouring mountain to the East. It is how they arrived at Tondc for the war council of the 12 clans. In that case, this river here," he indicates it, "will serve as a direct passage to Tondc, making the village there a probable target. The Azgeda gonakru may even split their forces and send one group over the mountain and one through the valley, using one set of troops as a distraction so that they can take whichever target we leave more exposed.

"So far, we intend to set up a blockade in the valley to ambush the Azgeda warriors and to keep them from advancing onto our territory. Our warriors will wait in the forest until they reach this point," he taps it, "and then they will attack. Our archers will send volleys of arrows first, and then the real battle will begin."

Lexa puts a hand up to signal Deivid to let her speak. "As for the threat to Camp Jaha," she continues, "we wanted to consult with you first to determine how you would like to handle the situation. We are willing to offer what warriors we can spare to help you protect your land, should you desire our help.

"We also understand that this is not truly your war - that your alliance with us is the sole reason for your involvement. As such, we will take whatever help you may choose to offer us, but we do not expect anything from you except that you take this threat to your people seriously. Camp Jaha cannot fall to the Azgedakru, for your sake and ours. It would be a dangerous foothold for the Azgeda."

I look to my mother, who appears to be deep in thought, and then decide to speak up. "If I may, _Heda_," I glance at her and she nods, curious as to what I'm about to say, "The alliance between our two clans is not - or at least, it should not be - the sole reason why the Skaikru are in this fight with you. The Azgeda, from what we've learned today, will never be satisfied with their own territory. Even if we were not allied, and by some unlikely turn of fate, the Trigeda fell to the Ice Nation, where do you think they would look to attack next?"

I look to the Arkers and catch Bellamy's eye. He makes no obvious gestures, but the expression on his face tells me that he is in agreement. I go on, "Both of our peoples' futures hinge on this war. I can't speak for the Chancellor," I clarify, "but I think that it is in the Skaikru's best interest to be fully involved in the war efforts, should they come to be necessary."

My mother rises from her seat. "I agree with Clarke; if it comes down to me, our people will do everything we can to help, within reason, and we will be happy to collaborate." She pauses for a minute, and then sighs, "However, I need to consult with my council back at Camp Jaha before I give the formal go ahead. The other council members were required to stay behind. That doesn't mean that we can't begin to discuss the possibilities, though."

Lexa's stance virtually screams approval, and the generals, although attempting to remain stoic, are showing small signs of relief. "That is good news, Chancellor," Lexa says with a small smile. "We are grateful. But the logistical discussions can wait for tomorrow. Today is the Spring Equinox, and a great celebration is being held tonight for which we," Lexa gestures to herself and the rest of the Tri Kru who are present, myself included, "need to begin to ready ourselves. You are all very welcome to join us tonight."

"Thank you," Abby replies, and, the meeting over, everyone gets up from the table, and people begin to trickle out of the building and back into the surrounding capital.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

Back at my tent, I prepare for the party with Raven and Octavia. My mother has already decided against going, claiming that she needs to rest from the journey that she and the others had taken to get to Polis. That's not the real reason why she won't go, though. She and I are at odds again; the conversation that we'd had after the war council meeting had started off well enough, but it was strained at best by the end. It had started to go downhill as soon as the topic of how things were at Camp Jaha was brought up.

**_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_**

_"Things are going as well as can be expected," my mother told me. "The survivors of the 100 - they're still getting over it, really, especially the ones who were trapped in Mount Weather. It hasn't been easy for them. They'll all be so glad to have you back, Clarke. They felt so guilty about not trusting you, and they've been worried sick about you since you left."_

_"Wait, mom-" I cut in before she could go on, "I'll come to the camp and visit, for sure, but I'm not coming back to stay."_

_"What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered. "You should come home and be with your people, Clarke. You don't have to stay here anymore."_

_I felt a pulse of anger shoot through me at her tone. "I actually happen to like it here, mom." She recoiled slightly at the bite in my voice, and I took a moment to calm myself down. _

_"I feel at peace in this place," I told her in a much gentler tone. "I have friends here that I consider family now, too, just as much as Raven or Octavia, and maybe even Bell. I sell art in the marketplace at this little booth, and the people there have accepted me, now, even knowing who I am. And the culture, mom," I said, passion seeping into my voice, "there's so much more to it than we thought there was. It can be harsh, yes, there's no doubt about that, but it's also incredibly beautiful, and so _complex_."_

_"That's great and all, sweetheart," my mother said, her voice taking on a patronizing, exasperated lilt, "but it's not where you belong. Your friends need you Clarke, and -"_

_"My friends have survived without me for months now," I interrupted, "and I'm sorry, mom, but you don't get to tell me where I belong anymore. I'm an adult, whether you choose to recognize that fact or not. I can make my own choices, and right now, I'm choosing to give life here a chance. I promise you, I will come to Camp Jaha and visit often - you guys are still my family. But this is where I feel at home, mom. If that changes, you'll be one of the first to know."_

_Abby stopped and looked at me for a good minute in silence, analyzing my face, though for what, I have no idea. Finally, she told me, "I don't understand this at all, Clarke. I don't know if you're serious, or if you're still just running away from what you had to do. But you're right. I can't force you to come back with us, as much as I'd like to."_

_I sigh. "Don't say it like that, mom. I know you don't understand this, but trust me when I say that I'm not running from anything anymore. That's the whole point. I've finally settled down, I've finally made peace with it all. And I did it here. Is it so hard to believe that I would want to stay?"_

**_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_**

Raven knocks me out of my trance with a nudge to the shoulder. "You alright, Clarke?" She's wearing a dress that I lent her; its skirt is long, flowing, and canary yellow, and its top is made of layered goose feathers. It looks gorgeous on her.

I start a little and then laugh, silently chastising myself for neglecting my company. "Yeah, sorry Raven. I just have a lot on my mind." I pick up a paintbrush, and carefully continue to decorate my face. Because it's for the Equinox festival, I use bright colours, no black, and lots of floral patterns.

"I can imagine," she says, a knowing look in her eyes as she watches me. "It looked like you and Abby were butting heads again - that have anything to do with it?"

I tap my nose twice in answer. She nods. "She wants you to come back, right?"

"Yeah," I murmur, "she does."

"And you don't want to, clearly," Octavia jumps in, gesturing at my getup. She's wearing another one of my dresses - a short, emerald green one with dark fur accents that plays up her eyes beautifully - and is sitting on my bed, braiding her hair for the celebration. Her face is already painted with delicate vines that frame the space around her eyes.

I look at my two friends curiously. "Do you think I'm making the right decision?"

Raven and Octavia exchange glances, and Octavia nods at Raven to go first. "Look Clarke," she says, "you know the way that I used to feel about the Grounders. They executed Finn, they tied me up on a tree and sliced me open for a crime that I didn't commit ... I hated them." She pauses. "And then, a couple months after the mountain, I met Bellamy's girlfriend, Echo. She told us all about what it was like here, and how horrified everyone had been of the Mountain. If we'd lived under a kind of threat like that, we would have been just as strict, I think. I mean, it was already pretty harsh on the Ark." Octavia and I nodded; we knew that _all_ too well. "You can't tolerate crime among your own people when you're already being terrorized by someone else. I don't know," she said, a thoughtful look on her face, "I'm still angry about what happened to Finn, but I understand it now. And Echo - she's just like us, when it comes down to it. Kyle - Wick - helped me realize that." She blushes. "She's a good friend, and if there are a lot of people like her here, I can definitely understand why you want to stay."

I'm a little stunned at her revelation, but I have no time to recover. Octavia jumps in right after her. "And I do too," she says. "I mean, I'm both as well, Clarke." I furrow my brow in confusion, and she clarifies, "I come from the Ark, and Bellamy and you guys are my family. But my _people_ are the Trigedakru. I _get _them, and I've earned my place with them. I was always an outsider before I met Lincoln and Indra, until they helped me find my world. And it has its flaws," she glances at Raven, "but it's also wonderful. And it's where I belong."

I smile, catching her eye in the mirror. "Me too," I tell her, and she grins back at me. A thought previously stored away slips loose and comes to the forefront of my mind. "I've been meaning to ask you, Octavia," I look at her reflection curiously, "how did you get accepted back into the clan, you and Lincoln?" I gesture to the mark on her neck, and she laughs, surprising me.

"Now that's a story," she gets out, between chuckles. "You know how Lincoln told you that he took care of Cage?" I nod. "Well, once everyone was settled here, he and I went back for the body, and we dragged it to Tondc on a sled. Lexa and Indra were both there, helping get some of the survivors settled and coordinating the rebuilding process. We got Nyko to get us an audience with them, and when we walked in, Lexa almost had us arrested for insubordination." Her face grows a bit more serious at that, and then she perks up again as she goes on. "That's when Lincoln and I flipped Cage over and showed Lexa the President's pin on his lapel. One of the prisoners who'd seen him walking around with Tsing and his father in the blood chamber was able to confirm that he was one of the _Maunon_'s leaders. We invoked an old law," she says, her eyes twinkling, "that says that the warrior who kills an enemy commander and brings his body to the _Heda -"_

_"_Can ask three favours of them," I cut in, a smile slowly creeping onto my face. Raven laughs, shaking her head at Octavia's nerve. "Smart."

"So, Lincoln asked for our names to be cleared, for me to be reinstated as Indra's second, and for permission to stay in a small cottage in Tondc. It was funny," she remarks with a smile, "Indra and Lexa were actually both quite happy for the loophole."

I chuckle. "Of course they were." I'm done painting my face now, and I get up, waving Raven to the chair to take a seat so that I can do hers, too. "I'm so glad that it worked out for you two."

"Thanks, Clarke," Octavia says and grins at me. "Hey, Raven," she says, "want me to do your hair while Clarke paints your face?"

Raven laughs. "I'm not used to all this girly crap," she joked, "but what the hell. Why not?" Octavia and I shoot each other amused glances, and then set ourselves to work.

"Thanks for the dresses, Clarke," Octavia says as we fuss over Raven. "We'll fit right in. You look beautiful, by the way."

I blush and glance down at myself. My dress is ankle length and bright turquoise, but the neckline and belt are made up of strings of different coloured beads. "Thanks, Octavia. I figured that I'd better look good tonight - Lexa is announcing my new title, and I want to make a good impression."

"New title?" Raven and Octavia asked simultaneously. My blush deepens.

"Before you guys arrived, she told the generals to address me as Heda Klark, now, and to tell their warriors to do the same. She told me she'd tell everyone else at the celebration."

Raven looks surprised, but Octavia's expression is a combination of shock and smugness. "Holy shit, Clarke," the latter says. "You realize what this means, right?" I nod my head, but Octavia ignores me. "She's made you her equal, which means that she's not only accepting you into the clan in the most indisputable way possible - she's legitimizing the Skaikru as the Trigeda's ally. That's a ballsy move." She smirks at me. "She must hold you in _very_ high esteem." The implication in her tone is clear.

"Shof op, Okteivia," I mutter, elbowing her side.

"Clarke," Raven says incredulously, a teasing tone in her voice, "Holy crap! You _like_ Lexa!"

I sigh, weariness seeping through me. "Seriously, guys?!" They both stare at me smugly. I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to rest my face in my hands. "Look ... it's complicated," I tell them.

"You sure about that, Clarke?"

I shoot them both a glare. "Yes," I growl, and they laugh at me. I'm finally done with Raven's face paint, and I say, "Now stop trying to mess around in my love life. You guys need to get your other clothes back to where you're staying, and I need to go meet Lexa."

Octavia puts a hand on my shoulder and holds me in place. "You know that she's enamoured with you, right?" she asks. "Seriously, the way she looks at you sometimes makes me want to call her Commander Heart Eyes, but if Indra ever heard me say that, she'd put me on sentry duty for a month."

The corners of my mouth turn up slightly against my will. "Get outta here, O," I say lightly, and she smiles at me, and then wraps her arm around Raven's. With a quick "see you later" they're gone, and I wash my hands off quickly before leaving the tent to find Lexa.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

A pair of festively attired guards escort me to Lexa's tent in the celebration grounds. One respectfully asks me to wait with him, and the other goes in to check to see if she is ready. He comes out, and then gestures for me to enter, saying, "Heda Leksa set raun gon yu, Heda Klark." I smile and thank him before walking into the tent. As the entrance falls back into place, I spot Lexa in the corner, her back to me as she pulls a cloak of scarlet feathers over her shoulders and then readjusts her tawny hair.

Quietly, I say, "Hei, Leksa," watching as she slowly turns to face me, and all I can do for a moment is stare. She's wearing a long, blood-red dress; the bodice is form-fitting and embellished with golden beads, and the skirt flows elegantly to the ground. Her face is painted with tiny golden stars and red swirls, and her olive eyes are smouldering.

_Okay. So maybe I do have a bit of a thing for her._

"Klark", she greets me, and as her eyes sweep over my figure, her face breaks out in a serene smile. "You look beautiful."

"So do you," I tell her, desperately trying to suppress a blush. _Too complicated_, I tell myself, _too complicated._

"I hope you don't mind," Lexa says, "but I had a ceremonial cloak made for you. You'll know now that they're a symbol of a _Heda'_s status. I thought that it might help you feel a bit more comfortable tonight." She walks to a drawer and opens it, pulling out a gorgeous white and golden downy cloak. My eyes widen and I step forward, intending to take from her.

Lexa shakes her head at me. "Turn around," she says, and when I obey, she stands behind me and drapes the cloak gently over my shoulders. When it's in place, she reaches around my neck and fastens the clasp at the hollow of my throat. Her hands linger at my collarbones for a second longer than necessary before she gently pulls my hair out from underneath the down and takes a moment to arrange it. As she does this, I examine the cloak - it's made of white feathers brushed with golden paint, and its underside is incredibly soft.

I turn my head and twist my body slightly so that we're face to face. "Mochof, Leksa," I murmur, and I give her a smile of pure gratitude. "For this and for all that you've done for me here."

"You don't need to thank me, Clarke," she replies softly. "You never need to thank me."

"Lexa," I breathe in protest, turning to face her fully. "You don't need to try to make up for what you did at the Mountain anymore. I forgave you months ago; it just took me a long time to admit it to myself. I couldn't let it be that simple, because if it was, it would have meant that I'd have to forgive myself for what I did there, too."

Lexa doesn't smile, but her eyes glisten. "We both did what we needed to do, Clarke. From the very beginning. But you have to know..." she trails off.

"Know what?" I ask lightly, trying to coax her to go on with my gaze.

She looks at me solemnly for a time, her focus flickering over my features before coming back to my eyes. It's in that time that I realize how close we are standing to each other.

Finally, Lexa breaks the silence. "That I didn't do what I have done for you because of what happened at the Mountain."

For an immeasurable moment, we are the only two people in the world. My heart rate quickens, and I can't look away from her and the two mesmerizing green pools of thought that adorn her face.

I open my mouth - whether to reply or to kiss her, I really don't know - but before I can do anything else, a guard walks into the tent. Lexa and I don't jump back, or really even move apart from each other, but instead turn to face him, side-by-side.

The guard at first looks mortified at having interrupted, but then quickly resumes an impassive expression. "Heda Leksa, Heda Klark, my apologies, but the moon has begun to rise; it is time for the announcement," he says.

Lexa says nothing, so I end up answering. "Mochof," is my simple response. "Lexa?" I raise a hand to her back. "Ready?"

"Yes," she says, giving me a small smile. "Are you?"

"Absolutely."

"Then lead the way, Heda Klark." I beam at her and laugh, before turning and doing as she asks.

As we exit the tent, I hear her mutter to the guard in Trigedasleng what is essentially the English equivalent of "next time, announce yourself first."

I can't help but smirk.


	10. Chapter 9: Gathering

**A/N #1: Here it is! Let me know what you think of this, please, if you can spare a minute for a review or PM. I'd love to know your thoughts, particularly on this chapter. Once again, I hope you enjoy it. Read away!**

**A/N #2: The word "ikwinoks" is one that I have made up - it is not confirmed by any of the sources that I cited in a previous ****chapter. It's simply the Trigedasleng phonetic spelling of an English word. The names that I have come up with are derived the same way, as set out in the Trigedasleng dictionary.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100. It belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

One of the attendants sounds a horn.

"Heya, ai kru!" Lexa calls out. We have just climbed the steps of a platform at one end of the celebration grounds, and are now standing beside each other, looking out over the crowd. The people gathered around the platform to await their Commander's speech all quiet down, and then joyful cries of "Heda!" and even the odd "Klark!" ring out. Lexa smiles at her people and then raises both of her hands. As she begins her short speech about the Equinox - _Ik__winoks, _in Trigedasleng - half of me pays attention to her, and the other half takes in the view.

The grounds are decorated with finely carved wooden posts, all strung with garlands of vividly coloured flowers and leaves. Booths line the grounds, soon to be filled with vendors selling all kinds of food and drink, and lanterns - to be lit at sunset - are posted at intervals between them. Musicians are getting ready to take the platform after Lexa and I have said our piece; some of the instruments they carry are ones that I've never seen before. The crowd of people below us is a sea of vibrant colours, feathers, furs, and beads, all framed by the lush green of the surrounding forest. In the paling sky, both the moon and the sun hang low on the horizon.

_It's gorgeous,_ I think to myself before returning my full attention to Lexa. She finishes speaking about the history of the celebration, and then places a hand on my back, taking us both forward a step.

"Osir gada raunon in hir gon yo hit op," Lexa says, and she shoots a smile my way. _We have a person here for you all to meet. _"Disha Klark: em ste _Golden Wolf _en _Sky Princess, _gona en lukot. Bilaik yo get in, em don ste Heda kom Skaikru; ba nau, em ste kom Trigedakru bilaik em ste kom emo. Nau, emste won kom _oso_." _This is Clarke: she is the Golden Wolf and the Sky Princess, a warrior and a friend. As you all know, she was once the Commander of the Sky People; but now, she is of the Tree Clan as much as she is of them. Now, she is one of _ours_._ A round of cheers ring out through the audience, and a wide smile parts my lips.

Lexa raises her arms for silence once more. Then, she takes my hand in hers, and her eyes smile into mine as she says, "Nau, em en ai ste won, ona tu. Ogeda, **osir** ste Heda." _Now, s__he and I are one, in two. Together, **we** are the Commander. _"Nau, Klark kom Skaikru don gon we, en Heda Klark kom Tu Kru ste hir." _Now, Clarke of the Sky People is gone, and Commander Clarke of the Two Clans is here._

Lexa lifts our joined hands into the evening air, and the crowd, after a shocked moment of silence, breaks into thunderous applause. The people call our names, throw flowers, and stomp their feet, and I'm blown away by the sheer openness of their welcome. I had been expecting far more resistance. The acceptance is overwhelming, and I can feel my heart soaring in my chest with happiness.

Lexa brings our hands down and I raise my free one to quieten the crowd. Curious eyes look up at me, and I take a deep breath to compose myself before going on.

"Mochof, ai kru," I say, letting my eyes sweep over the happy faces below. "En mochof, Leksa. Ogeda, oso ste yuj. Oso na win oso gonplei, oso wor au. Oso na shil op emo oso hod in. En ogeda, oso gada _uf_ in." _Thank you, my people. And thank you, Lexa. Together, we are strong. We will win our fights, our wars. We will protect those whom we love. And together, we are _powerful_. _I lift my right hand to my heart, holding Lexa's tightly in my left.

My new people mirror the gesture, and break out into applause again as Lexa and I give a final wave, and then descend into the crowd to begin greeting everyone. The musicians barely take a minute to set up before a lilting, happy tune carries over the grounds as people mingle and begin to eat and dance.

Once Lexa and I are finished with introductions, welcomes, and the like, she entwines her fingers in mine and gives my arm a gentle tug to get my attention. I turn to look at her, and in a nonverbal exchange that says all that we need it to say, we agree to walk hand-in-hand into the dancing crowd. We don't resurface for the rest of the celebration.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

The sky is the colour of a sapphire by the time I'm walking back to my tent, having managed - after saying goodnight to Lexa, of course - to slip away alone. One sole _gona_ stands guard at its entrance, and I nod at him politely as I approach. He says nothing, simply pulling back the flap entrance for me. I walk inside and collapse onto the bed, finally taking a moment to myself. As my gaze sweeps over the room, I reach a hand up to massage my neck, rolling it to try to relieve some of the fatigue in the muscle there. For a moment, I allow my mind to go blank, as I strip myself of my beautiful dress and cloak and put on cotton leggings and a loose, draping shirt as pyjamas. I yawn and stretch, and then get up tiredly to walk over and sit at the mirror.

I grab a cloth, dip it in the water basin, and begin to methodically wipe my face clear of paint in the torchlight. The easy task allows me to zone out, and my mind lingers on the wonderful night I'd just experienced. The memories of seeing the true spirit of Polis and its people, of being embraced into the clan - as its co-leader, no less - so warmly, and then, to top it off, of getting to dance with Lexa for hours; they all make me smile. I am so happy that I got to share it with Bell, Raven, Octavia and Lincoln, too - the lot of us had the most amazing time.

_If only..._ My thoughts turn to my mother - my dear, bullheaded mother. _Of course she __wouldn't understand,_ I think to myself. _She never seems to be able to accept the reasons for my decisions on her own. _I sigh aloud. Hopefully, with some time, she'll stop seeing me as a child incapable of making her own choices.

I rinse my hands off, face clean, and then move my focus to my hair. I'm halfway through unravelling my braids when my eyes catch a flicker of movement behind me in the mirror. The guard from outside has entered the tent, and in the reflection of the mirror, I see him look around for me before he locks on to my gaze in the reflective glass.

I open my mouth to greet him, but before I can do so, he is moving towards me, and I see his hand move to the weapon at his hip.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

I only have a couple of seconds to react.

I use them to stand, grab the metal paintbrush on my vanity, and slam it as _hard_ as I can into the mirror, shattering the glass. I catch a jagged shard as it falls and ignore the jolt of pain that rushes up my hand as it cuts the skin of the fingers gripping it. Then, wasting no more time, I whirl around, and with my assailant almost upon me, I raise a leg and kick the chair I was sitting on as hard as I can into his knees.

Surprised, the man grunts in pain and buckles slightly, involuntarily leaning forward. Before he recovers, I box his ears sharply to disorient him. The man reels backward for a second, pained, confused and enraged, and then grabs the chair and practically throws it out of the way. He draws his knife and advances, his eyes blazing.

_Size_, I think to myself. _That's his main advantage. Bless you, Aliya._

He swings at me with one arm, and as I block, he slashes at my side with his knife. I raise my elbow to deflect, but the point of the knife manages a shallow stab. I growl in pain; it stings something fierce - _which means there might be poison on the blade._ Even more adrenaline floods my system at the thought. _I'm on the clock_, I think to myself. I focus on avoiding the knife, and in the lapse in my attention, I take a couple hard blows to my other side, unable to keep up with the speed of his punches. I cry out as I feel a rib crack, and in pain, I shout "_**RIPA!**_" as loudly as I can, hoping desperately that someone passing by might hear.

The man moves to slash me again with new urgency and I swerve and duck, taking the opportunity to stab my shard of glass into his calf muscle and twist. He cries out in pain and his left knee buckles slightly, and that's all I need.

I come back to a stand, quickly kick his knee out, and as he falls, I grab his ear and use it as an anchor to swing myself around and turn him slightly at the same time, so that I'm mostly behind him. He elbows backward into my broken rib, and I bite my lip and grunt in agony, but I don't move back or release him. Instead, I curl an arm firmly under his chin in a rigid headlock. He tries to plunge his knife into my thigh, but I notice just in time to move and once again, the blade cuts shallowly instead of causing serious damage, the potential for poison aside. Before he can move his arm away, I grab his wrist and yank his arm up swiftly to dislocate his shoulder with a loud crack. The pain jars his arm and forces him to drop the knife; _about time,_ I think to myself. He struggles against me, and it's all I can do to keep him in place, but within seconds, my arm has moved down slightly, and the shard of glass is out of his calf and pressing against his carotid artery. Finally, he stills.

"Hod op_,"_ I snarl in his ear, "ou ai _na_ frag yu op." _Stop, or I _will_ kill you._

The man stays silent for a moment, and then snarls back at me, using his good arm to grab the hand at his throat and squeeze it, so that my fingers are cut even deeper by the blade. I yelp in pain, and he tries to twist out of my grip, but before he can escape, I bring my elbow down hard on the base of his skull. Instantly, he goes limp, and I let him fall to the ground in a heap.

I hobble outside the tent, and again, I yell, "RIPA!" and this time, add, "SIS AI AU!" I hear the sound of running and sigh in relief, wincing as my ribs protest. Figuring that there's no use in waiting, I go back inside and limp over to my vanity, the fingers of my right hand dripping blood from the mirror shard. I pull out a drawer to reveal a large roll of bandage left over from my sparring sessions with Aliya, and send silent _thank you_ to the universe. I begin to wrap them up as best I can, as finally, someone stumbles into the tent.

It turns out to be Daimen and a handful of guards. _Could have used your help earlier, _I think to myself wryly. For a split second, they look upon the scene in shock; then, they spring into action.

"Heda Klark!" Daimen runs forward but stops just in front of me, uncertain. "Chit beda dula ai op?!" _What should I do?_

"Hon em swis op," I say, "en ron em op gon ai. Snap, beja." As Daimen goes to do as I've told him and the guards secure my attacker, I lift my shirt to look at the stab wound. It's deeper than I originally thought, but it's nothing too horrendous. _Other than the poison,_ I think to myself, _if it is poison_. Next, I look at the lesion on my leg; it's fairly shallow, but it's still another point of entry for the poison, and it's bleeding profusely. I wrap several layers of the bandage around it and then tie it as best I can. I also ball up some cloth and hold it against the wound at my side with my good hand.

By the time I've done this, Daimen is in front of me again, holding out the attacker's knife. I put the cloth down on the vanity for a moment and take the weapon from him. I bring the blade up to my mouth and lick it as Nyko taught me, before turning my head and spitting on the ground. Understanding dawns on the attendant's face, and it's followed by grim horror.

"Daimen, gyon au en hon Naikou, Heda Leksa, en ai nomon op, snap," I urge him.

"Sha, Heda," he replies, looking at me worriedly, and then turns and gestures to two of the guards to come with him. They quickly leave, as do two other guards, who are dragging the unconscious assailant out of the tent. Three remain; I recognize them as the morning watch. I lean against the vanity, exhausted, and try to give them a smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. The poison has started to act already, I can feel it; shoots of pain are radiating from the two knife wounds.

"Heda Klark, can we help in any way?" one of them, Neithon, asks.

"Mochof," I say to him with a pained smile, "but I don't think so." I limp over and gingerly sit down on the bed, taking care not to jostle my ribs. My vision swims for a second as a wave of weakness passes over me."Actually," I hiss in pain, "never mind that, you can. Talk to me. Tell me about the _ripa_. Keep me awake for as long as you can."

The one on Neithon's right, Tomos, says, "He was not one of us, Heda Klark. None of our men have ever seen him before."

"He was posing as the nightguard," I tell them through clenched teeth. "And he was here alone when I arrived; you should probably put a search team out to find the _g__onas _who stands post that shift. I wish I could tell you their names, but I've never met them - before tonight, I've always been settled in before the night shift starts."

Neithon and Tomos exchange glances. "We will once you've been taken care of, Heda_. _Whoever it is can wait. They failed in their duty to protect you; they may well not survive long even if they are still alive now."

My brow furrows at that comment. "And who gets to decide that?" I ask, stifling a gasp as a jolt of white-hot fire sears further up my thigh.

Neithon and Tomos both look at me blankly. "You, Heda Klark," they say together.

A pained laugh escapes my lips at that little tidbit of information, and all three of the guards look at me in amazement and confusion. "I'm sorry," I say, still chuckling through my growing duress. "It's just," I sigh, "That's another decision that I never asked to have to make. But I will do so, regardless. That is," I muse, "if Nyko and my mother get here in time to purge the poison from my system."

Neithon and Tomos look anxious and uncomfortable at the matter-of-factness of my remark, but the third _go__na _laughs, and the sound gets a genuine smile from me. _Mattaias, _I remind myself, _his name is Mattaias_.

He looks me over for a moment and grins appreciatively. "If you will forgive my impertinence, Heda Klark," he says, "I must say that Heda Leksa chose her counterpart well in you."

"If you consider that impertinence, Mattaias, you would be appalled by the way the Skaikru speak to me," I joke, and this time, all three of the guards let out throaty laughs.

Suddenly, the pain spikes in my chest intensely, and I can't help but let out a choked cry. I let myself fall sideways into a lying position, and I manage to get out instructions to the men hovering helplessly over me. "If I start to convulse, keep my head from hitting the bedpost," I hiss through my misery, "and if my mouth starts to foam, to fill with bubbles, make sure that I'm lying on my side." The men gather around the bedside, preparing to do as they have been told. Tremors are already starting to rack my body, and I brace myself for what's to come.

I'm beginning to fade out from the sheer _agony_ of it all when I hear a rough, unintelligible bark of Trigedasleng; I force my eyes open to see Nyko in front of me, testing the blade of the knife as I had done minutes before.

"Ste yuj, Klark," he tells me, his gaze steady and calming, but urgent nonetheless. _Be strong, Clarke._ "I have an antidote for this, but it's going to be painful - this is a nasty poison."

I jerk my head in a nod as best I can, and he turns me over to my back and pours a bluish liquid into my mouth, pressing down gently on my throat to help me swallow in spite of the tremors. Then he turns me back onto my side.

I fix my eyes on his. "Broken ribs, stab wound in side, bad cut in leg, both poisoned," I list, panting, and crying out once before I can continue, "and fingers need stitches. Don't know what else."

"Sha, Heda," he says to me, and even through my agony, I manage to shoot him a glare.

"Don't - you - dare," I hiss through my teeth. "Klark otaim gon yu, Naikou." _Always Clarke to you, Nyko._ I shriek as my back arches against my will with the pain, and I'm flipped onto my back. Whether it's done by me or Nyko, I can't tell.

"Hold on, Clarke," he growls at me. "You need to fight it!"

From nowhere, a cry of, "CLARKE!" rings out, in what is unmistakably Lexa's voice. "Where -?!" I hear footsteps, and then I can see her in my peripherals. She is staring at me in abject horror, and she raises a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears. She is the complete opposite of how she was earlier in the night - all of her happiness and regal composure, gone without a trace.

The sight of her helps me resist the pain for as long as I can, but it quickly grows to be too much. After one last involuntary scream, my eyelids droop shut, and my mind slowly drifts off into the abyss to the sounds of choked breath and my mother's voice frantically calling my name.


	11. Chapter 10: Interrogation

**A/N: Thank you to all those who provided feedback on the last chapter! It's always great to read your reviews and take in your input. I've changed it up a bit this time around - you're getting some Lexa POV this chapter. I hope I do her justice.**

** Apologies for the wait - I had an assignment that took precedence over my writing. I also had to make sure that I got this chapter right_, _and I figured that it would be better to take a bit longer than to give you all a half-assed product. ;-)**

**There's some more Trigedasleng in this one. Some of it is translated directly after it is spoken. The rest of the translations are listed at the end of the text - I had to improvise a word or two, so they will be pointed out.**

**Well, if I've done my job correctly, you'll all be itching to find out what happens next, so I won't keep you here any longer. Read on!**

**WARNING: This chapter contains description of torture, although it is not overtly graphic. It also contains profanity.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Lexa POV - From the Ikwinoks celebration on**_

For the first time in a long time, I find myself laughing freely.

It's _her_ laughter that causes it. She is the only person who would be able to draw such a response from me - the only person with whom I can be so unreserved - after the loss of Costia.

_Clarke._

Now officially my other half, at least where the role of _Heda_ is concerned. I doubt that she fully understands the implications of the affection that I've shown her tonight; she's learned much about our customs, but there are some more instinctual, obscure ones that Aliya will not have taught her. The dancing, the laughter, the forthrightness with my emotions, all of it; I might as well have vocally staked a claim on her. No one else will think of approaching her _that_ way, now. _No doubt she'll find out someday,_ I think to myself, even as I dance with her to beat of the drums. _That will be an interesting conversation._

And the hand-holding: to our people, it implies so much more than affection. It symbolizes a harmony, a joining of spirits; I did not even dare to hold hands in public with Costia, because it would have represented the sharing of the _Heda_ spirit, and she wanted nothing to do with the role. Costia was a warrior through and through; she often reminded me that her duty was to take orders, not to give them out.

Clarke is different. It's as I said to her when we were preparing for battle against the _Maunon_: she was born to lead, same as me. The second she acknowledged that she could not stay out of the proceedings of the war council any longer, I knew what I needed to do, for both our people's sakes ... as well as for my own more selfish motives.

And who could truly blame me for them? Clarke is incredible. Perfect? No - no one is. But she is strong, loyal, brilliant, conscientious, beautiful, stubborn, and fierce. In short, she is formidable, and I can't help but _want_ her.

Her skin is glowing from the exercise of the dance, and her golden hair is aflame in the light of the torches. The blue dress she is wearing, now unhidden - our cloaks have been brought back to my tent by an attendant - intensifies the colour of her crystalline eyes. Her skirt dances around her silhouette as she performs the steps to the dance that a couple of volunteers and I have taught her and the handful of Skaikru. She smiles and laughs as she spins, taking turns with Okteivia, Linkon, Raven, Bellamy, and Aliya before she comes back to me, happiness in her gaze.

She is a sight for sore eyes - and none are more weary than mine.

With a final flourish of the horns, the dance ends, and the crowd stomps in applause. A few moments later, Clarke and I reascend the steps of the platform to thank the musicians, and say a quick but warm goodnight to the people below. They call out our names, applaud, and prepare for the last tradition of the night. I snap my fingers, and the vendors and attendants begin to weave through the crowd, randomly passing out handfuls of flower petals to those around them. When they have made their way back to their assigned positions and Clarke and I have received some of the petals as well, I raise an arm to silence the increasingly excited throng. I signal Clarke, and together we call out, "Won ... tu ... thri!"

At the exclamation, Clarke and I throw our handfuls of petals out over the heads of those at the front of the gathered crowd, and everyone in the crowd tosses their petals up in the air, shouting in delight. The white petals seem to shimmer in the firelight above their heads, before they begin to flutter to the ground, and men, women and children alike reach up to catch some in their palms. Clarke and I catch each other's eyes and a moment of wonder and understanding passes between us: these are _our people._

We give one last shout of farewell, and then Clarke squeezes my hand lightly. She gestures to my tent with her head, and, not needing any more than that, I gently pull her with me off the platform and through the dispersing crowd. Finally, we reach my tent, and I wave off the guard at its mouth, signalling for privacy.

We walk in hand-in-hand, and I say to Clarke, "Let's sit, and take the weight off our feet for a moment."

"That sounds perfect right about now," she replies tiredly, and we take a seat beside one another on fur-covered chaises that I had asked the attendants to bring to the tent before the celebration. I can't take my eyes away from her as she leans back and closes her eyes with a quiet sigh.

"That was wonderful, Lexa. I don't know if I've ever had that much _fun_ before. We rarely had dances on the Ark, and the few we did have were nothing compared to this." She waves her arm in the general direction of the grounds.

"I am glad that you enjoyed yourself," I tell her. "I did as well." In my head, I laugh at myself. _What an understatement._

Her eyes flicker open and she turns her head to meet my gaze with a smile. "Good," she says, simply, reaching out to entwine her fingers with mine across the arms of our lounge chairs. "I know you told me that I didn't have to thank you, Lexa ... but I want to anyways. Here, in Polis, with all of these people - I finally feel at peace. And you've made it possible for me to stay here, without any deception, and in a way that will let me do my best to help everyone, to protect everyone. That's more than I ever dared to ask for."

My heart swells at her words and for a moment, I am rendered speechless. _How does she keep making me lose control of my emotions? _I ask myself. The answer is obvious, but that doesn't make it any more easy to accept.

_Ai hod em in._

As that thought races through my mind, all I can do is quirk my lips up into something resembling a smile, unable to take my eyes away from hers. Quietly, I tell her, "I like seeing you happy, Clarke. That is all the thanks I need."

She doesn't blush; instead, her eyes smoulder back at me. I look away, overwhelmed, and despite my best efforts to suppress my reaction, a small gasp of air leaves my lips.

A moment passes before she murmurs, "And what about you, _Leksa_? Are you happy?"

I pause, mulling over the question in my head. I answer as sincerely as I can. "I'm getting there."

In my peripheral vision, I can see her nod in understanding. "Well, that's a start," she replies lowly. Then, she lets go of my hand and yawns, arching her back in a stretch. Once she is finished, she brings her legs over the side of the chaise, and with a groan, moves to stand. "I had better get back to my tent before I fall asleep here," Clarke says, with a quiet laugh.

My lips twitch in amusement. "Would that be such a bad thing?" I ask boldly.

The quiet laugh turns into a full-bellied one. "No, not necessarily," she replies with a grin, "but I think we've both had enough excitement for one night, don't you?"

A resigned, closed-lip smile spreads across my face. "Yes," I say, holding back a laugh. "Unfortunately, I have to agree." I move to stand, stretching as she had done and hearing some of my joints crack in protest. I walk over to the drawer and pull out her golden feathered cloak, and she stands with her back to me so that I can drape it over her shoulders once more. Once it has settled properly, she turns to face me and takes both of my hands in hers.

"Leida, Leksa," she murmurs, and before I can blink, her cheek is against mine, and her lips are softly pressing against the skin just below my cheekbone. She lingers for a moment, and then pulls back, a small, warm smile gracing her lips.

Our eyes lock. It takes me a second to regain control of my mouth, which has gone dry. "Goodnight, Clarke," is my simple, quiet reply. I tighten my grip on her hands for just a moment, and then loosen it again, my fingers slipping lightly over hers as I take a reluctant step back. "Sleep well."

"You too," she says to me serenely, and with a slight nod, she turns and walks out of the tent.

It's as clear as ever to me I watch her leave -

_ai hod em in._

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

_**"HEDA!"**_

My eyes snap open and I shoot up in my bed, one hand on the knife I keep under my pillow. My blurry gaze sweeps the room, and stops on the three figures standing at the mouth of my tent. Two of them are my guards, and they are flanking a man that I only vaguely recognize. He looks frantically worried, and the guards' expressions are a mixture of confusion and disapproval.

As my mind shakes off the sleep that had almost claimed me, I remember. It's one of the attendants; his name is Daimen, I think - he's one of Clarke's.

I am about to snap something at them when words begin to fall hurriedly from his mouth, and as I register their meaning, any thought of reprimanding him for disrespect vanishes from my mind.

"Heda Leksa," he pants, "Ripa don jomp Heda Klark op! Em ste laksen, foto!" _An assassin just attacked Heda Clarke! She's hurt, badly!_

My heart drops in my chest and my blood runs cold. "Teik ai gon em, snap!" I command, swinging myself out of bed and pulling on the first cloak and pair of boots I can find. In seconds, we have left the tent. "Hos op!" I bark at him, and he nods. We break into a brisk run, and the guards follow closely behind.

As we tear through the streets, it becomes clear that people know something is wrong. Many are peering out of their huts to see what the commotion is about, and groups of neighbours are gathering at the edge of the road, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones and watching with wide eyes as we fly by.

Up ahead, my eyes spot two of Clarke's guards carrying a large body in the direction of the prison.

"Em laik ripa," Daimen tells me through laboured breaths. _That's the assassin._

My pace quickens.

Finally, we are within shouting distance of Clarke's tent, and I call out her name to no answer. As we get closer, I hear a tortured scream, and if I thought my blood had run cold before, then it freezes in my veins at the sound.

At last, I burst into the tent, looking around desperately for her. "Where-?" I begin impatiently; and then I see her, and my heart shatters.

Clarke is lying on her back on the bed with Nyko crouched on the floor beside her. Her back is arched, she is shaking uncontrollably, and her face is contorted in obvious anguish. The tunic around her ribs is torn and drenched in blood, as is the thigh of her leggings and the dressing wrapped around it. One of her hands is gruesomely bloodied, and the half of her hair that is not braided is wild and gnarled. Her skin has a sickly pallor to it, emphasized by the presence of a thick sheen of sweat over her exposed flesh.

I look around for some kind of explanation - surely the wounds on her side are not so bad as to have caused this? Then, I see the empty bottle on the ground at Nyko's knees, and everything falls into place. _The wounds were poisoned. _I take an unconscious step forward, wanting to come to Clarke's aid, but knowing that there is nothing that I can do for her now.

Her eyes flicker as mine run over her battered body, and suddenly their blue locks on to my green. The sheer amount of _suffering_ there ... I raise a hand to my mouth in terror, and my breaths start to rasp and chafe at my throat.

We do not look away from one another, even as she cries out again and again in anguish, and even as Nyko spews encouragement at her. The same four phrases play on a loop in my head as I stand there, helplessly watching the woman that I love convulse on her mattress in agony.

_Not Clarke. _

_Not her too. _

_Not like this. _

_Not like Costia. _

We hold each others' stares for an indeterminable amount of time, until suddenly, a new set of violent tremors assaults her body and Clarke's eyes roll back into her head. Seconds later, her mouth begins to foam. Cursing, Nyko turns her onto her side and begins to scoop the fluid out of her mouth. I hear hurried footsteps and a shout of Clarke's name from behind me; Abby has arrived.

"Clarke!" she cries out, and she lunges forward to kneel beside Nyko, already scrounging through a med kit. "What's happening to her?!" she demands hoarsely.

"Poison," Nyko replies gruffly, the worry clear in his voice.

Suddenly, Clarke goes limp ...

... and in one earth-shattering moment, I notice that her chest is still.

I am numb, horrified, and utterly unable to take my eyes away from the wretched scene. Tears begin to stream down my face.

"NO!" Abby shrieks. She dives for her daughter, getting up on the bed beside her. She puts her hands near Clarke's heart, and begins to push rhythmically on her chest. _It's what they do to revive the Reapers,_ I realize. _She's trying to restart her heart._

Hope flutters in my chest.

One minute goes by. Nothing.

Another. No change.

A third one. My tears are now silent sobs, and suddenly I want to shake Clarke. _Wake up! _my mind screams at her. _WAKE UP!_

_Four minutes. _I could swear that my heart has stopped too.

_Five -_

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

A rough, shaky gasp fills the room.

My heart stammers in my chest, and suddenly, I can breathe again. An incredulous, hiccough-like laugh forces its way up and out of my throat alongside my sobs, and I stagger forward to fall on my knees at her bedside.

The steady rise and fall of her chest is the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life.

"Thank you, Chancellor," I manage to get out through my erratic breathing. A corner of Abby's mouth lifts up, but her eyes stay fixed on Clarke.

"Thank my daughter when she wakes up," she murmurs to me, and another hiccoughing laugh steals its way through my lips.

After an indefinite amount of time passes with everyone in the room watching Clarke breathe, a low voice speaks out. "Will she be okay?"

It's one of the guards; I don't know his name, but I'm extremely interested in the answer to his question.

Nyko hesitates. "Ron oso ridiyo op, Naikou," I order him. _Tell us the truth, Nyko._

"Sha, Heda," he replies, sighing heavily. "I don't know yet," he tells the man baldly. "It's too early to tell. But thanks to the Chancellor, it's much more likely that she will than it was before."

At first, Abby doesn't say anything; instead, she reaches out a hand to stroke her daughter's hair back from her face.

"Who did this to her?" she eventually asks, her tone one of cold rage, and beneath my relief and my concern for Clarke, a spark lights in my gut.

I put a hand on Abby's shoulder; she turns to face me at last, a hard look in her eyes. "Stay here," I say to her, "keep her alive ... and I will go find out."

The Chancellor's expression twists to imitate something akin to approval. "Go," she tells me; and for the first time, we understand each other perfectly.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

_"Weron laik ripa?"_ My voice is pure ice; the guards try to hide their trepidation, but I am not fooled.

"Daun der, Heda," one of the guards says, pointing to the staircase on my left. I give him a curt nod and descend the stairs into the basement, my black fur cloak trailing the steps as I walk. (I got changed quickly in my tent before arriving at the prison; I will not interrogate an assassin in my nightclothes.)

One of the guards flanks me at the bottom of the staircase, and I decide to make him useful as we head towards the cell at the very end of the hallway. "Ripa don tel yo op chon bilaik em heda?" _Has the assassin told you the identity of his commander?_

"No, Heda," the man replies gravely. "Osir don hod op gon yu." _We waited for you._

_Good,_ I think to myself. _That means that I get to deal with him myself._ Grim anticipation washes over me, and I grit my teeth and nod. After a moment, I order, "Lok Indra en ai moun gona op. Tel emo op komba rain hir en hod op gon ai. En tel emo op chit osir get in hashta Heda Klark en ripa. _Nami_?" _Find Indra and my other generals. Tell them to come here and wait for me. And tell them what we know about Heda Clarke and the assassin. _Clear?

"Sha, Heda," he replies. "Oso ste hir, Heda," he tells me as we come to a stop, and he holds out the key to the cell in front of us. I take it wordlessly, and he salutes me before going to do as I've instructed. I put the key in the lock and turn it slowly, using the prolonged moment to ready myself.

The door swings open and I see red.

The _ripa _is in the middle of the room, his feet shackled to the floor and his arms forced above his head by chains. He is clearly in pain, I note with malicious satisfaction; he is mostly hanging from - rather than standing in - his chains, and his knees are bent awkwardly despite his feet being flat against the ground. To add to that, one of his shoulders is hanging lower than the other one; _it's been dislocated, _I think to myself. A swell of pride sweeps through me despite my rage; Clarke fought well.

Guards line the inside of the cell, looking on in silent anticipation. I stalk forwards a few paces and observe the man in front of me coldly. He stares back at me, projecting defiance as best he can - but I can see the fear in his eyes.

I begin to circle him, slowly drawing my favourite knife from its sheath. As I do so, I analyze the man's appearance. The few tattoos of his that are visible are of a different style than those I am accustomed to seeing on a regular basis, but I still recognize them. A mixture of suspicion and cautious, bubbling rage begins to swirl in the pit of my stomach.

"Chon yu bilaik?" I ask, my voice echoing off the stone walls of the cell, its tone almost conversational. The man is silent.

_Time for an incentive_, I think to myself. _The face first; let everyone know just what kind of scum he is._

I approach the _ripa_ and raise my knife to cut into his cheek, twisting the blade slightly in his flesh to maximize the pain I'm inflicting. He glares at me and his jaw sets harshly, but he still refuses to say anything. I extricate the blade, and then repeat the process twice more.

On the third cut, I keep my knife pressed into the side of his face, and remark, "Yu nou bilaik won kom ai kru, ste yu?" _You are not one of my people, are you? _

The man has the audacity to spit in my face.

I close my eyes for a brief second to regain control of myself. Then, I raise my free hand to wipe off his saliva, and I smear it down his untouched cheek with deliberate slowness.

I remove the blade of my knife from his face. Then, without warning, I backhand him sharply, the sound reverberating through the room.

"Yu don jomp osir moun Heda op," I hiss at him, my voice frigid. "Gon disha, ai kru en ai na led yu op kom taim yu wan op kom laudnes, yu na get klin. Ba em na _nou_ ste snap wamplei taim yu nou chic op **nau**." _You have attacked our other Commander. For this, my people and I will torture you until you die of the pain, you can be certain of that. But it will _not_ be a quick death if you do not speak **now**._

The assassin's eyes show obstinance, dread, and resignation all at once. "Ai na nou tel yu op chit yu gaf get in," he growls back at me. _I will not tell you what you wish to know._

I reach a hand up to hold his face in my palm gently for a moment, my eyes scanning his expression for any lack of resolve. Then, I dig my nails into the cuts in his cheek, and he cries out in surprise at the pain. "Bilaik yu don sad klin," I murmur scornfully. _As you have chosen._

"Yu laudnes ste branwada," I tell him, shaking my head in mock disappointment, my eyes piercing his as I channel all of my fury through them. "Ai get yu tat in." _Your pain is worthless. I know your markings._ I kick his already injured knees out from under him completely. He screams in pain as he drops and his weight shifts partly onto his dislocated shoulder. I move to the side and push him so that he swings back and forth from his chains. "Yu laik kom Azgeda. Ba," my mouth curls in disgust, "bilaik yu _emon_?"

_You are from the Ice Nation. But are you _hers?

As he moans pitifully, I step around him so that I'm facing his back, and then grab him by the fabric of his jacket. I take my knife with my other hand and saw through the leather until his undershirt is showing. Then, I sheathe my knife and tear open the flimsy cotton with my hands to reveal his bare skin.

There, at the base of his spine, is all the confirmation I need: ink in the form of a small, black crown centred in a white star.

A noise that I really can't describe tears out of my throat as my rage finally boils over. With an unearthly shriek, I bring the butt of my knife down hard on the tattoo and the man howls in agony as it impacts his spine. The pain proves too much for him, and he goes limp in the chains.

My mind is a mess of disjointed thoughts, scrambled by some of the most intense fury I have ever felt in my life. I can feel my hands shaking with the strength of it, as I walk to the door blindly and then turn back to face the room. The guards are staring in shock at my breach of composure, but right now ... ai nou ron jok op.

_"Izoulde." _

I spit the name out as a snarl.

The guards look at each other in confusion. "Chon bilaik dei raunon de, Heda?" one brave man asks. _Who is that, Commander?_

My glare sweeps over all of the faces before me as I answer.

_"Azplanheda."_

The Ice Queen.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

**Translations:**

**"Won ... tu ... thri!" **= "One ... two ... three!"

_**Ai hod em in **_= I love her.

**"Teik ai gon em, snap!"** = "Take me to her, quick!"

**"Hos op!"** = "Hurry up!"

_**"Weron laik ripa?"** = _Where is the assassin? Note: there is no word in the Trigedasleng dictionary for assassin, but I figured that ripa would work, because it means murderer, and an assassin is usually a compensated murderer. XD

**"Daun der, Heda" **= Down there, Heda.

**"Chon yu bilaik?" **= Who are you?

**"... ai nou ron jok op."** = I don't give a fuck.

**Azplanheda** = Ice Queen. Made from the words: _Azgeda_, which means "Ice Nation", and therefore whose prefix means "ice"; _plan_, which means woman, to designate a female, as the leader of the Ice Nation is a queen; and heda, because she is the leader of her people.


	12. Chapter 11: Damage

**A/N: Hello, everyone. Sorry for the wait, but RL (real life) decided to interfere with my writing schedule for a bit in the form of a heavy workload and a broken laptop. I'm back now, though, which I suppose is what counts. My uploading schedule is going to have to be less ambitious than I'd originally planned, so I'll try to commit to once a week from now on and see how manageable that is. Thanks to those who reviewed, favourited, followed and just generally offered their support while I had my little unannounced hiatus. **

**I'd just like to note that the translations in this chapter aren't always word-for-word, but that the phrases that I use in Trigedasleng do have the same meaning as their English counterparts and also, thus, convey the same sentiments. I have to take liberties given the limited official vocabulary available to me. Words like "feelings" and "think" and "forward" don't exist yet in Trigedasleng (if they would exist at all anyways), for example. This makes my job a little bit more difficult, as I do like to try to use accurate Trigedasleng for Grounder dialogue. Also, in case anyone gets confused, there is no distinction between singular and plural forms of nouns in Trigedasleng.**

**Enough of my rambling! Is Clarke dead? Is she dying? Is she fine? If the last of those is the case, what will happen between Clarke and Lexa given recent events? Let's find out together. I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Lexa POV_

"Heda ... haukom?"

Indra's voice is surprisingly soft as she makes her inquiry.

She and I are alone in the meeting room where Clarke was finally reunited with her mother and the other Skaikru representatives. Despite only a day having gone by since the happy reunion occurred, it feels a lifetime in the past. I am standing, looking out a window into the forest surrounding the _Polishoum_, and Indra is sat at the table behind me. I sigh, and my breath fogs the glass of the window in front of me, obscuring my view of the trees.

I turn to face Indra, and her expression is disarmingly open. I square my jaw and lean back against the window sill, mulling over my thoughts before answering her.

"Ripa nou don tel osir op ... " I hesitate, "ba em na ste kos Izoulde don ron ripa op hedon 'frag Trigedaheda op', en kos oso nau gada tu in, em don sad in jomp Klark op fou ai, don ai em op bilaik em kwelen." _The assassin didn't tell us, but it could be because Isoulde ordered him to kill the Commander, and because we now have two, he chose to attack Clarke before me, thinking that she was weak._

Indra snorts in derision. "Joken branwoda. Dei gada - Heda Klark," Indra corrects herself at my look of reproach, "bilaik won kom yuj gona en heda ai don ai op raun sonraun." _Fucking idiot. That girl - Commander Clarke - is among the strongest warriors and leaders that I have seen in my life._

Her blatant praise of Clarke surprises me, and I raise an eyebrow at her, a hint of smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Indra shoots me a look, growling, "Skaikru nou ste kwelen, ai get dei in nau. Okteivia don tich ai op dei, nou bilaik em get in." _The Sky People are not weak, I know that now. Octavia taught me as much, not that she knows it._

Indra pauses for a moment and then continues in a more thoughtful tone, "En Heda Klark don ste emon yongon Heda, en gada kom emon Heda fou deide. Dula ogeda emon dula op, em souda gada mou uf in kom emon nomon, en dei plan nou ste raun kwelen." _And __Heda Clarke was the young ones' leader, and the daughter of the Chancellor before that. To be able to do all that her duties required of her, she must have even more strength than her mother, and that woman is the last person I would call weak._

I offer her a small, close-mouthed smile. "Sha," I reply. "Klark ste yuj - dei bilaik haukom em nou ste daun." _Yes. Clarke is strong - that is how she is still alive. _My voice is strong as I speak, but I have to fight to maintain my composure, a struggle that is becoming more and more common for me, to my chagrin.

I know that my facade of calmness would be enough to convince the vast majority of my people - and even most of my generals - that I am fully in control; but Indra, having known me for as long as she has, and also having no doubt heard of my outburst from the guards from Tondc present in the _ripa's _cell upon my outburst, knows better. Her shrewd gaze has no trouble piercing through my stoic mask, and suddenly her eyes widen.

_"Yu hod em in?"_ _You love her? _Indra's expression is a curious mix of enlightenment and disbelief.

My fake tranquility of moments ago shifts to cold fire. "Taim yu don bilaik eni moun raunon ..." I tell Indra, the threat implicit in my tone. _If you were any other person ..._

As is typical of her, Indra pushes my boundaries. "Ba ai nou bilaik eni moun raunon, Heda, ste ai?" _But I'm not any other person, Commander, am I? _Her patient, stubborn expression does not waver despite the glare I am inflicting upon her. After several tense seconds, I nod in grudging, cautious admittance.

She sits back in her seat and motions to the chair across the table from her. "Den, komba raun en chich ai op, Leksa. Yu gaf em in." _So, come here and talk to me, Lexa. You need it._

I study Indra for a moment and gauge her resolve before, with a sigh, I walk forward and sit myself down across from her.

"Sha, Indra," I huff out with a sigh, "Ai hod em in, nami? Ba, pas Ikwinoks ... en Azripa ... ai don get daun. Oso don dig won veida au, ba na ste mou hir, en emo na don ai ain hodnes gon Klark op. Ai gaf ste kom Klark, ba en's seintaim ifi. Disha ste fostaim - taim - " _Yes, Indra. I love her, alright? But after the Equinox festival ... and the Ice killer ... I'm worried. We have found one spy, but there could be more here, and they could have perceived my feelings for Clarke. I want to be with her, but it's too risky. This is just the first time - if -"_

Indra interrupts, and quietly says, "Heda. Oso get in nau chit oso souda dula op. Oso na shil Heda Klark, en yu, en moun op. Oso na ste ogud, oso get in strat kom Azgeda. _Commander. We know now what our way forward must be. We can, and will, protect Commander Clarke, and you, and the others. We will be ready, we know what the Ice Nation's intentions are._

"En, Leksa," Indra, receiving my nod of permission, reaches out to put a hand on both of mine, which are lying outstretched on the table, "Klark nou bilaik Costia."

_Clarke isn't Costia._

I recoil from her, my guard coming back up automatically at the name of my late lover. I withdraw my hands from her grasp, and move to stand, putting a hand on the hilt of my sword_, _an instinctual reaction to the tension that has just filled me. I feel my eyes sting as they always do when I hear Costia's name unexpectedly. As I'm about to make it clear that Indra has overstepped the line, the _gona _in question immediately puts both of her hands up in a gesture that serves as both a call for peace and plea to hear her out.

Knowing she has limited time to placate me, Indra says quickly but firmly, "Costia don ste yuj, sha, ba Klark - em ste Heda, Leksa, en kos yun hedon. Yu get in haukom yu don sad em in. Em gada keryon in kom Heda, kom gona, kom fisa - em gada ridiyo uf in. Em na kik thru disha wor." _Costia was strong, yes, but Clarke - she is a Commander, Lexa, and through your doing. You know why you chose her. She has the spirit of a leader, a warrior, a healer - she has true strength, true power. She will survive this war._

As she says those last few words, I feel myself relax. I take my hand off of my weapon and appraise Indra for a second; the woman just stares back at me, utterly resolute in her convictions.

Finally, I break off our staring contest and I nod to myself. "Mochof, Indra," I say quietly.

"Pro, Heda," she replies with a nod of her own. "Nau, hod dei op," she gestures to my face, and with mild surprise, I realize that my cheeks are wet, "en gyon op chek Heda Klark au." _Now, stop that, and go check on Commander Clarke._

I brush the salt water off of my face and give her a glare. "Ai ron hedon raun, Indra," I retort, and I can feel myself slipping back into _Heda_ mode, the brief, emotional interlude over. _I give the orders, Indra. _"Tel ai op chit gona tel yu op, nami?" _Let me know what the generals say, okay?"_

"Sha, Heda," Indra says, and her own mask slides back on, stoicism firmly in place.

She stands up, and with a silent look of understanding, the two of us turn and walk out of the room together.

_*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100*_

_Clarke POV_

My throat is dry.

That is my first conscious thought as slowly, my mind surfaces from the deep fog of oblivion.

Then it all comes back.

_Equinox._

_Lexa._

_Ripa._

_Poison._

Poison ...

My eyes snap open.

I'm lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling of my tent, and I'm suddenly struck with a sense of deja vu. _Back here again,_ I muse to myself, as I shift slightly and pain erupts in several different parts of my body. The sound I make is a cross between a laugh and a groan.

"Clarke?"

_"Clarke!"_

Several voices call out my name, and I can feel the skin of my lips crack slightly as I smile in response. My discomfort comes back to the forefront of my mind, and I rasp out, "Water, please."

As the sounds of a small commotion reach my ears upon my request, I turn my head to find out exactly who is at my bedside. Mom is closest to me - and she looks on the verge of tears - but I also see Nyko, Aliya, Octavia, Raven, and - in the back, looking slightly awkward and out of place - Lexa.

I'm taken out of my observational trance when Raven comes forward with a canteen and hands it to my mother. The latter moves to help me support my head, and I gratefully take the water from her and drink a few small sips. Then I hand it back, and she gently lays my head back down on its pillow.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"Like I've been trampled alive," I reply honestly, chuckling. I hear a few similar sounds from around the room and grin; levity has its uses.

Mom isn't quite as amused.

"I almost lost you, Clarke. Again."

I consider that for a moment, searching her face, and the grin slips from mine. "Yeah, mom. I know," I admit, voice still rough from disuse.

"I'm not sure you do, Clarke. Your heart stopped." I stiffen at that. "It took me more than five minutes to resuscitate you." She desperately tries to blink back tears. "You almost _died._"

My throat tight with emotion, I reply, "I'm sorry. I did the best I could to avoid the knife, but -"

"That doesn't matter now, sweetheart," my mother cuts me off. "I'm just relieved that you're alive. But after this," she gestures down at my battered form, "we need to talk about things."

I groan, knowing exactly where this is going. "Can this wait, mom? At least until a time when I have most of my strength back and I can have this conversation with you properly?"

She fixes me with a measuring stare and I refuse to back down, as exasperated and exhausted as I may be.

Fine," she acquiesces, "I'll give you some time to recover first - I think you deserve it." She gives me a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes; behind them, I see her anxiousness and frustration. She leans over, kisses my forehead and then stands, joints audibly cracking. I wince in sympathy.

"There's a meeting going on in the _Polishoum_ right now, and Bellamy and Lincoln are there in my stead, but I think that I should probably join them now that you're up," she tells me. "I'll let them know that you've woken - they were both worried sick about you, too." She shoots me another reproachful look.

Now even more exasperated, I raise my good hand automatically to rub the sleep from my eyes. "Yes, I'm a trouble magnet, I know," I say with a sigh. "Go, mom. Do what you need to do. I'm not going anywhere."

She grimaces but nods, and, with a final glance- this one aimed toward Lexa - she turns and exits the tent.

"Well, that was fun," Octavia drawls. I glare at her and Raven laughs.

"It's like we said, Clarke, she'll come around," the mechanic comforts me, and I give her a small smile of gratitude.

"One can only hope," I say wryly, and the two girls laugh.

"Glad you're still alive, Clarke," Octavia says, and Raven nods emphatically.

"Yeah," she adds, "you're our best source of entertainment. We'd hate to lose you." We all chuckle a bit at that.

"Wow, thanks for the concern," I reply with a smile, but I keep my expression genuine so that they know that I mean it despite the sarcasm. Both smile at me, and then glance at the other Tri Kru in the room.

"I'm sure you four have things to discuss," Octavia says courteously, primarily addressing Lexa and I, but also glancing at Aliya and Nyko. "We have jobs to return to now, regardless, so we'll leave you to it." Raven nods in agreement. With a gentle pat on the shoulder from Octavia and a squeeze of my good hand from Raven, the count of the tent's occupants drops from six to four.

My remaining visitors move forward. Aliya pulls up a chair and sits down so that she is closer to my eye level, and Nyko moves to stand behind her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. Lexa surprises me; she comes over and sits by my midriff on the edge of the bed, taking my good hand in hers. I smile up at her and her eyes smile back despite her solemn countenance as they roam over my features with an almost hunger-like intensity.

I contemplate the three people left at my bedside and I can feel my expression sober. For an indefinite moment, they look at me and I look back at them, and while no one says a word, all of the relief and worry and anger and pain is communicated.

Aliya is the one to break the silence.

"You fought incredibly well, Clarke," she tells me earnestly, and I can't help but flush under her proud gaze. "The man who attacked you was a trained assassin. The Ice Queen, the _Azplanheda_ \- "

"- _Izoulde,_" Lexa interjects, and Aliya nods, disgust marring her features.

"She has an elite guard, all marked - like your attacker - with a lower-back tattoo of a black crown in a white star. We call them _Azripa. _They are her strongest warriors, ruthless, vicious, and trained to do her bidding without question. That you were able to subdue one ..." Aliya trails off, but her meaning is clear.

I find myself flustered at the praise. "He underestimated me," I tell her and the other two quietly. "That's how I managed to win the fight; if he had considered me a valid threat from the start then I would likely be dead now," I say, keeping my voice matter-of-fact. "He drew his weapon too early and it clued me in to what was happening, gave me time to think. I knew he thought it would be easy, so I used the leeway he granted me through his misconception. He still almost killed me," I muse, "and he would have done had it not been for you two and all the training you gave me, not to mention your antidote, Nyko." I look up at my two friends and mentors and give them a smile. "So thank you - for my life."

The couple exchange a look and then turn their eyes back to me, solemn but clearly moved. Aliya speaks for the pair of them, saying to me, "You do not need to thank us, Clarke. You are our sister now, our family. We look out for each other, _nami_?"

I have to work around the lump in my throat to reply, "Sha, sis." Aliya smiles at me fondly, but her expression clouds over when Nyko removes his hands from her shoulders and kneels down beside me. From the way they both are looking at me, I know that something is off.

"About the antidote, Clarke," Nyko tells me, and while his voice is calm, there is an undertone to it that puts me ill at ease. "While it did undo enough of the poison's damage to allow for your mother to revive you, its effects have their limits.

"The poison," he hesitates, but at my glare, continues, "this _particular_ poison ... it is meant to be theatrical." I raise an eyebrow, confused. "I've seen it used before, and I've witnessed the kind of deaths that it causes. It inflicts extreme pain and is supposed to prolong the suffering of the victim by causing the spasms that eventually rendered you unconscious, Clarke. It's very dramatic," Nyko says in disgust. "But the other thing that it does is discolour the veins around the entry point of the poison."

My stomach lurches in trepidation. "So I'm scarred, then?" I ask, my voice low.

Nyko nods, and Aliya looks at me sadly. Lexa's grip on my hand has gotten noticeably tighter.

"That bad?"

None of them reply.

"Show me," I say. "I need to see it, and I'd rather have you three here than have to face this alone."

Aliya gets up and, carefully, although with significant discomfort on my part, helps me into a sitting position. Nyko glances at me for permission, and at my anxious nod, he pulls one side of my tunic up to the top of my rib cage. Gently, he removes the gauze wrapped around my torso, making sure not to jostle me. The breath that I'd been holding comes out in a huff as I set eyes upon the damage.

The skin around the scabbing stab wound is a disturbing, unnatural black, an oval-shaped blot against the tan background. Creeping out from the main site of the injury are black, spiderweb-like veins, twisting upward towards my heart. The closer they get to it, the lighter they fade, transitioning from pitch black to a mild grey, but the image is jarring nonetheless. I'm used to scars, but this?

I swallow, trying to rid myself of the taste of bile lingering at the back of my mouth.

"There is one on your leg as well, similar to this," Nyko tells me, his jaw clenched in anger. "They may fade slightly over time, but they will likely always be there. I'm sorry, Clarke."

"Yu nou don dula disha op," I remind him. _You didn't do this._ "You don't need to apologize, Nyko; if it weren't for you, I'd be dead. And this is horrible, yes, but it also shows that I'm strong, that I'm a survivor." The words are spoken as much to convince myself as they are to comfort him.

"We actually have a name for people who survive this poison," Lexa interjects quietly, and I turn my head to meet her gaze. "It is used fairly commonly by the Azgedakru during war, and before we had this antidote for it, it killed anyone whose blood it entered. Even with the creation of the antidote, victims of the poison usually die because their hearts stop before the antidote can be administered. Survivors are rare and particularly respected among our people," she notes with a small smile, and I feel my cheeks redden slightly.

"The poison is called Azwamplei," Lexa continues, "because the plant it is made from is native to Azgeda tundra - so its survivors are called the _Azjuskikon_. Those who live with - and in spite of - the ice in their veins."

I contemplate all of this silently. The cynic in me thinks, _Great - another damned title that I don't deserve, _but I push that thought aside for the moment and turn my mind to the more immediate concern. Part of me is fascinated as I look down and inspect the scar, but I also feel an involuntary disgust and a pang of insecurity.

"Has anyone other than you three seen?" I murmur.

"No," Nyko replies softly. "Not even your mother. She let me handle your wounds because of my knowledge of the poison, and I insisted on your privacy when I was dressing them."

"Mochof, Naikou," I thank him, and he nods curtly before getting up to grab some fresh gauze for my side. While he fixes me up, Aliya reaches forward and puts a gentle hand on my calf.

"You're right that this shows that you're strong, Clarke," she says quietly. "No warrior - no leader - is without scars. It may take time to get used to them, but you will, and I hope that you will grow to be proud of what they represent. Those scars," she points to my side and leg, "are proof of your encounter with that assassin. And to fight an Azripa and survive to tell the tale; few can claim as much."

This manages to draw a small, genuine smile from me, and Aliya's eyes twinkle at the sight of it. "Der yu bilaik, sis," she murmurs, chucking my chin with a grin. _There you are, sister. _Abruptly, she stands and puts a hand on Nyko's shoulder, the latter having just finished tying up the gauze.

"Naikou, oso beda gon we en teik Heda Leksa en Klark chic choda op." _Nyko, we should leave and let Commander Lexa and Clarke speak to each other._

Nyko nods and moves to stand, and Lexa lets go of my hand for a moment so that he can take it. "Sha, hodnes," he agrees with Aliya, and his grip on my hand tightens fleetingly in farewell. "I will come by later on to check on you, Clarke," he tells me.

"And I will tell the guards not to disturb you, _Heda,_" Aliya adds, referring to both Lexa and I.

"Okay. Thank you, Nyko, Aliya - for everything," I reply once last time, and, with nods and subdued smiles, they take their leave.

...

And then there were two.

...

I turn my gaze to the woman perched on the side of my bed, and take her hand back into mine.

Lexa's olive eyes smile into my blue ones, and she raises a tentative hand to stroke a few strands of my hair back from my forehead. I close my eyes and hum appreciatively.

"I thought I'd lost you." She whispers the words so quietly that I have to strain my ears to hear them. "Do you know what that was like, Clarke? I never thought I'd feel worse than when I learned of what happened to Costia, but when I watched your heart stop, and the minutes went by -"

"But you didn't," I murmur, interrupting her, and my eyes flicker open as though of their own accord to meet her intense stare. "You didn't lose me. You kept me here long enough for Nyko and my mother to do their jobs. You were with me for the worst of it, Lexa, and you didn't look away, you didn't give up on me. So I fought. I fought for _you_."

Lexa's eyes are glistening now in the soft light streaming in from the tent's entrance. I can feel my own well up slightly as well as we look at each other, and sheer, adulterated emotion is exchanged in our locked gazes.

Lexa gently removes her hand from mine, and carefully leaning over my body, brings it up to my face so that its palm rests on my cheek. "Mochof, Klark," she whispers, our faces inches apart. "Thank you for staying with me."

Then, she leans down, eyes fluttering shut, and presses her lips to mine, brushing them together in a sweet and tender kiss. After a few seconds, she pulls back, and when I open my eyes, hers are there, looking warmly into my own. I give her a serene, tired smile, and she mirrors it.

"Now," she murmurs, "you should rest, Clarke. I will stay right here with you. And before you say it," she continues, seeing my mouth beginning to open in protest, "I do not need to be at the meeting. Indra has already been instructed to fill me in later."

Appeased, a kind of contentedness blooms in my chest as I allow Lexa to pull a chair right up to the edge of my bed so that she can continue to play with my wild, blonde mane. Propping her feet up on the edge of the mattress, she settles in as, physically and emotionally depleted, I slowly doze off into a pleasant unconsciousness, lulled to sleep by the warmth of my blankets and the soothing feel of gentle fingers combing through my hair.

_*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100__*The100*_

_Polishoum _= Polis House. Based on the assumption that Polis was once Annapolis, the _Polishoum _is what is left of the Annapolis State House.

_Azwamplei_ = Az - ice, wamplei - death. "The Ice Death." A poison native to the Ice Nation.

_Azjuskikon _= Az - ice, jus - blood, kikon - living. "One who lives with ice-blood." A survivor of the Azwamplei poison.


	13. Chapter 12: Justice

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm done XD I have finished my exam - it went well - and I have a week and a half of rest before heading back for the main year. I'll miss the course - but not the workload. I also got accepted into one of those workshops I told you about, so I'm extremely happy at present. **

**I hope you enjoy the chapter and that its quality is up to par. Let me know what you think in a review or PM if you can spare a moment :-)**

**A shout-out to my friend cbptheatre, who brought to my attention the fact that the character I've made to be Bellamy's girlfriend actually does have a canon name and background now - Echo from the Ice Nation. I have corrected the oversight (I had called her Liouna in a previous chapter), and I will be sure to explore her rather precarious position in this story, but that will come later on. **

**On we go :-)**

**Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence. Read ahead at your own discretion.**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100; it belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Clarke POV**_

Lexa and I spend the next two days together despite my constant assurances of "Ai ste os, Leksa, yu na gon we taim yu gaf in." _I'm fine, Lexa, you can go if you need to._ Her refusal to leave me seems inconsistent with her past behaviour, but I'm not about to complain; she has been very good company, even if I am a little confused as to why she's not carrying out her regular duties when it's clear that I'm going to be okay.

As I recover from the attack and Lexa cares for me, visitors stop by to ascertain my well-being, and later, to update us both on the war council discussions and take orders from the pair of us. If any of them are surprised by the clear intimacy of the relationship between their two Commanders, they do not show it. In fact, for the most part, the familiarity between us is accepted without comment.

When Raven and Octavia stop by, however, the majority of their visit consists of them teasing me shamelessly in front of Lexa (although, it's all insinuation and innuendo, and none of it directly mentioning Lexa's name - the two of them are brash, but they aren't stupid). Watching amusedly as they attempt to get a rise out of me, my counterpart stays mum for their entire stay.

When they leave, cackling away like the witches they are, I can't help but turn my head and glare at Lexa, who is sitting behind me on my bed and has returned to braiding my hair. It's one thing that I've noticed she won't do when we have company.

"No threats of imminent death for disrespecting the _Heda_?" I reproach her teasingly.

Lexa's mouth twists into smirk, and mischievous green eyes flicker up to meet my gaze. "You are just as capable of telling them off, Clarke," she points out wryly.

"Only when they really deserve it, I think, after what we've been through together," I tell her quietly. She accepts this with a nod and her expression turns pensive.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask curiously.

"The future," she replies. My brow furrows and I turn to face forward again.

"It's looking more and more grim," I remark, adding darkly, "Not that either of us is new to that."

"True," Lexa agrees, her fingers unfaltering as they continue to weave strands of my hair together. There is a pause before she adds, "But at least we are truly united in the face of it this time around." I twist slightly to give her a small smile at that, and we are quiet for a moment before a realization hits me.

"_We _may be," I begin slowly, motioning between the two of us, "and most of the Trigedakru here have been gracious enough to accept me - but what about the rest of the Skaikru? Has anyone other than the delegates been here to see the way of life in Polis? Has there been any attempt at reconciliation between our two cultures beyond the peace treaty and its conditions?"

Lexa's expression turns grim and she averts her eyes from mine, turning her gaze to the work her hands are doing. "No," she replies solemnly. "The invitation has been extended, but understandably, your people, from what I gather from your mother's comments, do not feel comfortable - or even safe - coming here to visit and to learn about us."

I look down at my own hands for a moment, staring without truly seeing them. "Then you realize ..." I say quietly, "I'm going to have to go to Camp Jaha for awhile. And soon." I look back at her to gauge her reaction. She frowns, but I can see reluctant agreement in her eyes. "I'm the only one who is really going to be able to convince them, aren't I? Bellamy will help, and Octavia will too, but they need me if our _kru _are truly going to come together like we need them to in order to win this war and secure peace between us in the future."

"You're right," Lexa sighs, "And I will have to stay here to take care of our people and reenter the war council discussions." She pauses and then comments, "You know that we could declare war on the Azgeda right now, don't you, Clarke? You are Commander and Izoulde sent an assassin to kill you. That is an act of war, and a particularly dishonourable one at that." Her green eyes are flinty even as they stay trained on my braids.

"We need to secure our allies first, and I'd like to make a solid attempt to bring our clans together before we move forward with anything other than preparations," I respond, and I reach back to gently squeeze her arm with my good hand. "But you already know that."

The look on Lexa's face is almost chagrined. "Yes," she says, "I do. That is the most logical strategy and what is best for our people. Forget I said otherwise."

I contemplate her for a moment, and tentatively, I reach up to brush her cheek with my fingers. She looks up at me, and, as usual, her eyes tell all.

"You're still worried about me, aren't you?"

She sighs again. "Of course I am, Clarke. I relive that night over and over again in my mind every time I try to sleep. I..." she looks embarrassed, "I am worried that you will be ambushed during your passage to Camp Jaha. It is irrational, I know, because we will have a contingent of guards accompany you and the Skaikru delegates to the camp, and you are more than capable of defending yourself. But..." Her expression flickers, and I can tell that she is trying to suppress something.

"Leksa. Tel ai op," I chide her.

Her gaze flickers across my face, olive eyes haunted. She inhales sharply. "Costia was captured by a pack of Azripa while travelling with one of my representatives during the last war." Instantly, I understand and I feel the urge to comfort her, but I let her continue anyways. "Our people were on a diplomatic mission to one of the River clans," Lexa tells me. "Costia was acting as a guard, and she saved the woman she'd been assigned to protect, but she was outnumbered, and it wasn't the representative that they were after. The Azripa ran as soon as they had knocked her unconscious. She never stood a chance." She looks at me solemnly. "I don't want history to repeat itself."

I shift my body to face her properly, and her hands drop from my hair to her lap. I lean forward and press my forehead gently against hers. She closes her eyes, clearly comforted by the gesture, but her jaw is still tense, and her shoulders look taut with stress.

"When the time comes for me to leave, I'll be careful," I reassure her. "Besides, Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven aren't about to let anything happen to me, even if I were to be off my guard. Neither would any of the _gona _I have in mind to take with me. We will make it there and back as safely as possible."

Lexa's eyes open to meet my gaze and the corners of her mouth twitch upward. She leans forward and our lips brush together briefly. Too soon for my liking, though, she sits back, lets out a heavy breath, and nods. She gestures for me to turn around again and I oblige; she resumes her braiding.

We're quiet for several minutes, and then a thought strikes me.

"We should send for my mother," I suggest quietly. Lexa hums in agreement behind me.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

My mother strides into the tent, her face scrunched up in concern.

"Clarke, are you okay? What's going on?" she demands, taking in the sight of Lexa and I sitting side-by-side on my bed with anxious suspicion.

"Calm down, mom, everything is fine. Take a seat." I gesture to one of the chairs that we've had brought in for visitors. "Lexa and I want to speak to you about something." My mother's expression grows wary at that, but she does as I ask regardless.

"When everything is settled here, I want to go back to Camp Jaha with you," I tell her.

Her face lights up at that and breaks into a large smile. "I'm so glad that you've come around about this, Clarke. The kids will be so glad to have you back for good, and -"

I cut her off, "You've misunderstood me, mom. I want to come back with you to visit and to talk to everyone about what's going on here, not to stay. We've been over this. My role here is permanent." I glance at Lexa, hoping that I haven't crossed a line. She nods in solidarity, eyes warm, and I feel my spine straighten a little. Judging from her expression, my mother is not pleased.

"Clarke, that's unacceptable. I was reluctant to allow this even before the attack, but now? It's obvious that you're not safe here. You need to come home."

I raise both of my eyebrows incredulously. "Mom, whether or not it's acceptable _isn't_ _up to you_ anymore. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I'm an adult. I've been through more than most adults on the Ark - hell, more than most adults _here_ \- go through in a lifetime. I am capable of making my own life choices. And in case you haven't figured this out yet, mom, there is no such thing as _safe_ on the Ground. Although, believe it or not, apart from this attack, I've experienced less trouble here than I have anywhere else during my time on Earth." My voice stays steady and low but grows increasingly colder the longer I talk.

"That may be true, Clarke, but you have to understand -" my mother begins pedantically, but I interrupt her for the second time.

"I'm sorry, but seriously, mom? You want to do this here? Now? Lexa and I called you here so that we could speak privately about the best way to soften the Arkers to the idea of cooperation and integration with the Trigedakru." Abby goes to speak, her expression indignant, but I cut her off again, saying loudly, "No, no, _fine_. You know what? Let's get this straightened out and then move on." I take a deep breath to compose myself and force some calm into my voice.

"I get where you're coming from, okay?" I plead for her to understand. "I know that you just want me to be safe. But you have to put this in perspective, mom. This," I gesture down at my injuries but am careful not to reveal my scars, "is just the beginning. It's nothing compared to what the suffering of our people -" I look at Lexa as I speak those last two words, "- will be if we don't win this war. And to do that, the Arkers and Trigedakru need to be united, mom, and I have a huge opportunity here to help with that. I'm not going to back down just because the _Azgeda _tried to kill me. They're going to try to kill me eventually no matter what."

My mom shakes her head through my entire spiel. "Clarke, the remaining of the 100 and the rest of the Arkers - they're not going to be easily persuaded. They're not going to see this the same way that you do; they're going to think that you're abandoning them."

Lexa, silent up until now, speaks up in my defense. "Clarke would never willingly abandon the Skaikru in a time of need, Chancellor, and you know that as well as I do," she asserts, squeezing my hand gently. "She cares too much, especially for those who remain of the 100. Just because she is not present all the time does not mean that she does not think of them constantly, nor that she does not look after them at every possible opportunity. And before you say anything," she adds as my mother looks like she is going to protest, "her absence after the ordeal with the Mountain Men was not abandonment. She knew that you and Marcus and the other Skaikru leaders would have the presence of mind to see to your people's needs, and she was incapable of doing so at the time. She needed to process what happened, and she needed to do it alone. I could tell as much upon our reunion. But that's beside the point."

Lexa pauses to organize her thoughts and then trains her gaze directly into my mother's eyes, her resolve unwavering. "The point is that those of the Skaikru who know Clarke well will understand intuitively that she has a good reason for being here, and that she is still looking out for them in doing so. As for the rest, I cannot imagine that they don't respect her enough to be willing to hear her out when she shares the details of her experience during her time here in Polis. Not to mention that Clarke also has the support of Bellamy, Raven, and Octavia. Their opinions should hold some sway."

My mother sits back in her chair and says nothing for a moment, simply staring at the pair of us. "Neither of you is going to budge on this, are you?" she eventually asks, and a sour and wry tone enters her voice.

We shake our heads as one. She sighs.

"Fine," she says. "You've made some valid points. And me digging my heels in clearly isn't going to change anything, or help any of this go more smoothly. For the record, I don't agree with your decision, Clarke," she tells me sternly, "but I can accept it. And I can be professional when speaking about this subject in the future," she adds, a touch of chagrin in her voice.

"Thank you," I say with a great deal of relief. It goes away just as quickly as it came, though, and I feel sobriety set in.

"Before we move on, though, mom, there is something else we need to talk about," I admit.

My mother's eyebrows shoot upwards. "And what is that, Clarke?" she asks, a mixture of steel and foreboding creeping into her voice.

"You know that the assassin's execution is happening tomorrow, right?" I confirm. She nods an affirmative, so I continue, "Lexa and I have discussed it, and we both think it's best if I take an active role in the proceedings. The attack was on my life, and if I don't address it personally, I could be perceived as weak by the clan, and that's the last thing that we need right now."

My mother considers this, and then slowly begins to nod her head. "I agree with you," she says. "But that's not what you're concerned about, is it?" This time, I'm the one to nod.

The corners of my mom's mouth turn downwards. "So this is about the specifics of the execution, then," she deduces.

"Yes," Lexa clarifies.

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

Lexa and I glance at each other grimly.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

The sky above is overcast today, and the air is cooler than usual for spring. It's almost as if our surroundings know what is about to come to pass.

I stand at the edge of the masses gathered around the formal execution site of Polis, preparing myself. My counterpart, draped in black, gold, and red, steps forward into the clearing. She barks out an order, and two guards drag the bound and beaten assassin into the middle of the site and begin to secure him in place. They work quickly, and once they have finished, the _Heda_ addresses those assembled to watch.

"Disha hef laik Azripa," Lexa calls out, her voice all clear, cold, undiluted rage. _This man is an Ice Killer. _The crowd hisses at the revelation; everyone knows the part that the _Azripa _played in the torture and beheading of Costia and in the development of the _Azwamplei_.

Azripa hands are drenched in Trigeda blood.

_Jus drein jus daun,_ I muse silently.

Lexa circles the man tied to the post in the middle of the site, and continues, "Em don jomp Heda Klark op raun sheidgeda kom Ikwinoks, trana pon Heda Klark klin den em na frag em op."_ He attacked Commander Clarke during the night of the Equinox, attempting to fool her so that he could kill her._

At this, I stride forward into the clearing. _"Clearly," _I state, addressing the crowd in Trigedasleng with a wry twist of my lips, "_he was unsuccessful." _I allow the people to titter at that comment for a moment before raising an arm for silence. Then, I say the language's equivalent of "_However_...", and with deliberate slowness, I remove the golden, downy cloak that had been draped carefully around my person and hand it to an attendant. The sight that is revealed provokes startled noises from several parts of the crowd.

Underneath the cloak, I am dressed in traditional ceremonial armour that, apart from its personalized colour accents (red for Commander status, but also blue for proficiency in healing), has one significant difference from Lexa's. Instead of her practical breastplate, I am wearing a cropped leather shirt that exposes my midriff, and along with it, the black, web-like scars that cover my side and reach around my front, disappearing under the leather but clearly headed towards my heart.

"... nau, ai laik Azjuskikon," I continue. "En kos disha ripa don trana frag ai op kom az, ai na sis em sonraun op kom faya."

_Now, I am a survivor of the Azwamplei. And because this murderer tried to kill me with ice, I will take his life with fire._

Low murmurs fill the air.

"Ba fos," I continue after a suitable pause, "_For each one of my cuts ... _Jus drein jus daun."

Gingerly, I unwrap the gauze around my injured hand, and present the ugly, mottled skin laced with stitches to the crowd. Then, I unsheathe the ornate dagger at my hip.

I approach the battered Azripa, who, even tied painfully tight to the post, is having trouble remaining on his feet. I take a moment for myself to suppress any feelings of pity that I might have for the man, and focus instead on the atrocity of what he had attempted to do to me. Memories of the pain the poison had caused fill my mind, and suddenly, it's not my conscience I'm fighting, but something a lot more instinctual.

Something a lot angrier.

I force that feeling down too, but not enough to eliminate its presence in my mind - just enough to regain control.

This needs to be clinical. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

"Jus drein jus daun," I call out. Then, I raise the dagger and slash the Azripa's fingers. Blood drips from his hand as the blade runs through its flesh, and I know that I've cut to the bone. I swallow back the taste of bile at the back of my throat. At the same time, the assassin clenches his jaw tightly but does not call out.

Next, I pull back a section of leather in my leggings to reveal the horrific wound and scarring on my thigh, turning around so that the crowd can observe it. Then, I replace the leather in its original position and return to the Azripa. "Jus drein jus daun," I repeat, keeping my voice calm and matter-of-fact. In the next moment, my dagger is planted deep in the assassin's thigh. This time, he cries out - twice. Once when they dagger pierces his flesh, and once when I rip the blade sharply out of it.

Finally, I gesture to my abdomen and torso, and I make a full circuit of the clearing so that everyone within seeing distance of me can understand the extent of the damage that the bleeding man on the post has done to my body, the body of their _Heda_. "Jus drein jus daun," I state again, more softly than the first two times, and the weight and terribleness of the justice being dispensed hang heavy in the air.

The dagger stabs at the Azripa's gut, drawing an agonized grunt from him, but not diving into the flesh so deeply that he will bleed out before all is said and done. Once again, I withdraw the blade swiftly, and another pained noise is ripped from the man's mouth.

I take a moment to look at him properly. He is utterly defeated. It's written in every crumpled line of his posture, in every helpless twitch of his eyes.

He's stained crimson, just as I had been the night he tried to take my life.

I step away from him, and an attendant comes forward with a cloth, while two more fix the assassin's legs firmly to the post and prepare him for the final punishment. Once the three of them have disappeared back into the crowd, I wipe the blade of the dagger and sheathe it once more, throwing the soiled cloth down at the Azripa's feet.

At that signal, Lexa walks back into the clearing.

This time, she is carrying a metallic flask in one hand and a blazing torch in the other.

She hands them both to me, and as I take them from her, our eyes meet. A hundred emotions flow between us in the space of an instant.

But in the next moment, I am turning to face the man who had aspired to be my murderer. I can feel my expression harden, as though my face had become a mask.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

"Yu gonplei ste odon," I tell the _Azripa_.

I circle him once, pouring the contents of the flask onto the logs surrounding his legs.

Then, I back up a few paces and toss the lit torch at his feet.

_*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

Translations:

Tel ai op. = Tell me.

Jus drein jus daun. = (the iconic) Blood must have blood.

Ba fos = But first

Yu gonplei ste odon = Your fight is over. (The phrase spoken before death)


	14. Chapter 13: Departure

**A/N: Hello everybody! I'm back after a long wait. Thank you for all of the favourites, follows, and reviews. Your support has been fantastic and I love hearing from all of you. I'm not going to get into why it took so long, but I will say that I'm not going to make any more promises when it comes to this fic because inspiration for it comes very sporadically, among other reasons. I'll update when I can, but that's all I'm going to hold myself to from here on out for the sake of my own state of mind.**

**I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please keep letting me know what you think :-)**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The 100. It belongs to Jason Rothenberg and the CW. No copyright infringement is intended._

***_The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_**

_**Clarke POV**_

Empty. I feel empty.

As I walk back towards the tent past wide eyes and hushed voices, everything fades into the background until it's just me and the buzzing, deafening silence in my ears. My body moves without conscious guidance on my part and I stare forwards without seeing.

The pressure of Lexa's hand in mine is the only thing that registers.

All of a sudden, we're back in my tent and I'm sitting down on the bed. Lexa's hand slips from mine and my chin lifts up in protest, eyes seeking her out at last. She turns to face me, a canteen in hand.

"Drink," she implores, her voice soft, holding it out to me.

Silently, I accept the canteen and take a cautious sip. It's alcohol, but it's nowhere near as strong as the moonshine that Monty distills.

Monty. I wonder what he would think of me if he saw me now. I suppose I'll find out soon enough.

"Clarke," Lexa says quietly, sitting down beside me on the bed, "You did what you needed to do. Do not dwell on it; it will only drive you mad."

I nod once, but I'm only partly listening to her.

The Azripa's screams are playing on a loop in my mind. I can still smell the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh, but whether it's on my clothes or just in my head, I can't tell.

Fingers, timid and gentle, touch my cheek. I glance up to meet somber, empathetic green eyes. Lexa gently pulls my face towards hers and our lips meet.

My mind finally goes quiet.

*_The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

A little while later, after having drunk a bit more than I should, I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning back into Lexa's embrace.

"I'm going to miss you," I murmur, my fingertips stroking one of the arms wrapped around me. As I watch, goosebumps rise on Lexa's skin.

She nuzzles my hair. "And I you," Lexa replies, also a little less than sober. "I don't want to let you go after everything that's happened; I think I'm starting to understand your mother more and more," she adds, and I can hear the wry smile on her lips.

I scrunch my nose. "Let's not talk about my mother," I mutter, which earns me a small chuckle. _Lexa laughs so sparingly, _I think to myself, _that every single bit of laughter I can wring from her is precious._

"Ait," she replies, her tone softened by lingering mirth. _Alright. _"But Clarke, you must promise me that you'll be careful on the way back to the camp." Anxiety was slowly creeping into her voice. "You are not fully recovered, and if we weren't so pressed for time, I would insist upon you and the others staying until that was the case."

"I'll be careful, Lexa," I promise her. "We'll move fast, but we'll stop to rest when we need to, and someone - multiple someones, even - will be on the lookout 24/7. We'll have some of our best fighters with us, too. It'll be fine."

Lexa sighs, her breath warm on my neck as her hands toy with a pair of my braids; the anxious noise seems louder than it is thanks to the quiet of the night. "I hope you're right, Clarke," she replies quietly. I lay my hands on her arms and lean my head back onto her shoulder, and together, we sit in silence, trying not to think about my impending departure.

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When I wake up the next morning, it's with groggy reluctance and squinting eyes. The sunlight seems determined to greet me, filtering through the fabric of the tent in wispy, shimmering tendrils to prod my eyelids open. I notice the presence of a warm, soft surface pressing against my brow and, looking up, I realize that Lexa and I had fallen asleep facing one another, foreheads touching and legs interwoven.

I take a moment to just _look _at her. Even in sleep, she's uneasy; her lips are pursed, her brow gently furrowed, and her body tense. I feel a pang in my chest, and without thinking, I tilt my chin upwards, touching my lips to her forehead softly.

Lexa's eyes snap open to meet my gaze as I lower my head back down, so that we're once again touching foreheads. She stares at me for a moment and, slowly but surely, a serene, close-lipped smile adorns her face.

Her eyes are so breathtakingly open to me in that moment that any quip that I'd intended to make evaporates, and instead I simply whisper, "Good morning." My voice comes out as a rasp, my throat scratchy with sleep.

"Good morning," she responds, leaning forward to give me a light peck on the lips. She moves to withdraw, but I reach up a hand to the nape of her neck to keep her where she is and gently coax her mouth open with my tongue. She makes a noise halfway between a hum and a moan and eagerly acquiesces.

We spend the next few minutes like that, sharing leisurely kisses as we bask in each other's company. Eventually, though, I become aware of the brightening light and my empty stomach, and with a great deal of reluctance, I pull away from Lexa's lips. When my eyes flutter open, the green ones in front of them are entirely knowing and faintly melancholic.

"Let's get ready," is Lexa's quiet suggestion. A nod and a sad, little grin are my answer.

We get up out of bed, shivering slightly in our thin tunics and cotton leggings. The morning air is cool and fresh and determined in the absence of the warmth of the torches and the fire pit, whose flames had burnt out at some point during the night. Lexa and I walk over to the dresser and, together, choose our clothing. Once we both have what we need, she moves behind the dressing screen at the far end of the room and I strip and dress by the bed. I pull the items on one-by-one; a sturdy, comfortable pair of olive-coloured leggings, an unassuming brown tunic, a leather jacket in such a dark shade of brown that in the right lighting, it could easily be mistaken for black, a pair of thick, woolen socks, and a set of sturdy, black, leather boots. When finished, I move to the corner of the room where a new mirror has been placed, and with some difficulty thanks to my injured hand, I begin to braid my hair back.

A minute or so into my embarrassingly futile attempt to arrange my hair, I catch a flicker of movement in the reflective glass and watch Lexa approach me, clad in her typical black and red. Once immediately behind me, she gently removes my hands from my tresses and her own take up their efforts much more efficiently. I don't protest; instead, I focus on enjoying the feeling of her fingers weaving through my hair, knowing that this will be the last time that I'll have the opportunity to do so for awhile.

She finishes quickly - maybe even more quickly than I'd prefer - and as she goes to move away, I catch her by surprise for the second time that morning by tugging her down to sit next to me on the padded bench. I grab a paintbrush with my good hand and dip it into a pot of black paint.

"May I?" I ask, holding the brush aloft. She nods, her eyes warm, and satisfied with her enthusiasm, I begin to paint the appropriate markings on her skin, adding my own stylistic flair. Despite trying to draw out the process, I make short work of the face-painting and after a couple of minutes, I set the brush down on the table. Lexa turns to face the mirror and smiles as she inspects her face.

"Perfect," she comments, her gaze following the lines that I've drawn across her cheeks.

"Good," I reply, and I can't help but give her a small smirk in the mirror, which she rewards with a short laugh. She asks me if I'd like the favour reciprocated, but I decline, explaining that it would likely not be received well back at Camp Jaha.

"Octavia always talks about feeling like an outsider there because of the choices she's made - because of her connections to the Trikru," I tell Lexa. "I have to start out on the right foot with the Arkers if I want to get them to listen to me."

Lexa, although clearly disheartened by the revelation, easily agrees and tells me that I "know best when it comes to the Skaikru." I get up from the bench as she begins to braid her own hair, and once my back is turned, I frown.

_Do I really know best anymore when it comes to them? _I think to myself, shaken. _Can I really do this?_

*_The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_

The time for goodbyes has finally arrived. I stand at the bottom of the steps of the Polishoum with everyone from the Skaikru delegation, a contingent of Trikru guards tasked with seeing us safely to Camp Jaha (Aliya among them), Lexa, and Indra. I can barely pry my eyes away from my counterpart, but remembering where we are and that we have a potential audience, I finally manage to turn my attention to Indra, who is wishing us well.

"... safe journey back to Camp Jaha," she finishes.

"Thank you, Indra," my mother answers for us, "and thank you for the escort, Commander," she says to Lexa. The two of them exchange a measuring look and both seem assuaged by what they find in the other.

"Of course," Lexa replies, gracious and stoic as ever in her role as _Heda_. "As Indra has said, I wish you a safe and easy journey, as well as the best of luck for your efforts on your return."

My mother gives Lexa a commiserating grimace and nods her thanks. Then, she declares, "Alright, everyone; time to get moving."

With one last lingering look at Lexa - who returns it with unmistakable sadness - I turn to follow my old friends to the city limits.

It seems to take no time at all to reach the boundary, and once we're there, the guards on patrol stop us briefly to return a crate of weapons, the majority of them guns. Bellamy hands them back out to their respective owners, and then we move on, wasting no time.

We trek through the forest, steering clear of the major trails whenever possible. We pass the time chatting, Bellamy, Octavia, Lincoln, Raven, Aliya, and I; my mother stays up ahead, talking to some of the Ark guards. A water canteen gets passed back and forth along with a bag of trail mix and some jerky as the hours stretch on and it gets closer to midday. The sun beats down on us from overhead, and soon we're stripping off unneeded layers and stowing them away in our packs for the evening. Regardless of that, it's not long before we're sweating buckets.

When the sun reaches its peak and we're only a mile or so from a massive, treacherous slope that will surely prove a grueling climb, a unanimous decision is made to break for lunch. We find a clearing with a good deal of shade and settle down to eat while the Trikru _gona _spread out in pairs to stand watch and simultaneously refuel.

I'm asking Bellamy about the new training regiments he's created for what's left of the 100 when we all hear a commotion in the woods and jump to our feet, weapons drawn. Aliya moves directly to my side and the others form a loose circle around me, bodies tense with anticipation and adrenaline.

Close by in the forest, voices call out angrily in unintelligible Trigedasleng, and then all of a sudden, three gona emerge from the woods, dragging a small, writhing figure with them into the clearing that I can't quite make out through the glare of the sun.

A fourth gona follows behind them and then jogs around the group to approach us, meeting my eyes.

"Heda," he addresses me somberly, "this _yongon _has been trailing us for hours - likely since we left Polis. We thought that stopping might trick her into making a move, and we were correct; otherwise, I doubt we would have been able to catch her. She seems to be skilled in stealth; every time we thought we had her, she would disappear into the forest, only to crop up again a half hour later."

"Bring her to me, _beja_," I say and the three other gona, hearing the order, pull the now unresistant figure towards me. As they get closer, despite the fact that the girl is hiding her face with her long, dark hair, something clicks in my brain, and I tell the people circled around me to stand down.

"Clarke," Aliya protests, but I cut her off.

"Do as I say, Aliya. It's okay. Trust me. That goes for all of you," I add, shooting quelling looks at Bellamy and Octavia in particular. They glare back at me worriedly, but apart from shifting their weight uneasily from one foot to another, the two siblings make no attempt to stop me as I move past them.

I step out of the circle and approach the girl being restrained. "Chek ai au, goufa," I say to her, my tone cautious but soft. _Look at me, kiddo. _The girl's head rises slowly and all I can do is stare.

"_Onya_?" I ask, stunned in spite of the confirmation of my suspicions. I wave off the guards holding the girl's arm with a firm "Chil yu daun!" and walk up to stand right in front of her before bending down to be on her eye level. "Goufa, chit yu dula op, mafta osir op laik disha? En's nou klir. Yu na don bilaik laksen foto, ou ..." I trail off, letting the silence speak for itself, and finding myself unwilling to finish the thought, regardless. _Kiddo, what are you doing, following us like this? You could have been badly hurt, or ..._

"Ai don get daun gon yu, Heda Klark," the young girl replies quietly, her demeanor solemn but not at all abashed. _I was worried for you, Heda Clarke._

"Worried for me?" I repeat in Gonasleng. "Oh, Onya." I open my arms and she immediately burrows herself in my embrace.

I feel her chest shaking and gently, I brush aside her dark, wild hair from her ear so that, without being overheard, I can murmur to her, "Oso gaf chic op in, nou sha?" _We need to talk, don't we?_

I feel her nod her head against my sweat-soaked tunic and I tighten my grip on her just enough to provide some comfort.

"Ait, yongon," I tell her softly, "teik oso gyon au en chich op." _Alright, little one. Let's go and talk._

***_The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*The100*_**


	15. Chapter 14: Onya

**A/N: Hello again! Thank you to all those who have followed, favourited and reviewed the story. :) Your support is, as always, invaluable.**

**Also, to those who have seen 3x07 ... holy crap, right?! I admit to being a tad shell-shocked.**

**Here is the next chapter, featuring the long awaited backstory of Onya. Kudos to those of you who predicted aspects of it. **

**I hope you enjoy the story!**

* * *

I lead Onya to a fallen tree a few hundred feet away from the clearing, allowing Mattaias and Tomos to accompany us and to stand guard at a distance just out of hearing range. Onya is trembling so badly that she stumbles on the way over and I barely manage to grab her arm in time to prevent a face-plant.

_This clumsiness from the same girl who managed to stalk us for hours without being caught,_ I think to myself, trying to catch a glimpse of her face as I put her to rights. Her hunched posture drapes her long, ashen locks around her face, obscuring my view of her. After we've reached the log and I've sat us both down, I carefully pull her hair back from her face. Anxiety, fear, and what looks like despair are contorting her skin into a mess of creases and worry lines that I'd like to say she's too young to have; but I know all too well how life on the ground forces people to grow up, and I will not make my mother's mistake of confusing youth for naivete.

Nonetheless, my chest aches as I watch Onya's anguish play out so clearly on her face. Needing to do something to comfort her, I motion for her to turn to the side. She looks confused, but, body tense, she obeys. Now seeing only the profile of her face, I watch her right eyebrow shoot upwards in understanding as she feels my fingers tug gently at her hair, weaving carefully through the knotted strands to de-tangle and then beginning to braid. Slowly, almost involuntarily it seems, if I'm interpreting her expression right, some of the tension in her shoulders disappears. As time passes, I braid, and as both of us wait for the other to break the silence, I notice Onya's eyes begin to glisten and her chin wobble infinitesimally before she squares her jaw, staring into the distance with a stubborn expression.

Finally, I grow tired of waiting for her to speak and decide to prompt her.

"Onya, goufa, don kom som au?" I ask her, keeping my voice low. _Onya, kiddo, has something happened?_

We sit in silence for an indefinitely long moment before, voice shaking, she admits, "Sha, Heda Klark. Ba en's som don kom au feva kom gon." _Yes, Heda Clarke, but it's something that happened a long time ago. _She still looks scared, and while her fear concerns me, what troubles me more is the resignation, the utter defeat that I see in her eyes. I'm even more appalled when I realize why that expression looks so familiar.

It's the same one my father wore before he was floated.

_What exactly has this girl been through?_

Onya glances back at me, mainly using her peripherals because of the way we're seated.

"Kigon," I coax her. _Keep going._

"Mema ha oso don hit op in?" she asks quietly. _Remember how we met?_

"Sha," I reply, and I reach my arm out so that she can see the beaded bracelet on my wrist. She smiles when she spots it, but any happiness it causes her is fleeting. She nods solemnly at my answer.

_"I was in the market for a reason," _she tells me in hushed Trigedasleng. _"I live there. I sleep in a different booth every night so that I'm not caught by any of the merchants."_

When she doesn't elaborate, I ask, despite the fact that I'm already fairly certain of the answer, _"And why do you have to sleep in the booths, _Onya?"

She's silent for an immeasurable period of time. My fingers move autonomously; one bunch over the next bunch, over the next bunch, and again, and then repeat.

"Ai nomon en nontu," Onya finally manages, and then falters. _My mother and father. _

She tries again. _"My mother and father weren't supposed to be together. He was _Azgedakru _and she was _Trigedakru, _and they met __before the Heda - Heda Lexa,"_ she amends with an apologetic glance in my direction,_ "created the _Kongeda_. They met when _Azgeda _was at war with _Trikru. _He was a simple livestock farmer, but she was a _gona," Onya tells me, pride for her mother in her voice.

_"There was a battle after _Heda_ Lexa's Costia __was killed. _Heda_ Lexa found out where the _Azripa_ who did it had grown up. It was a village a few miles away from my father's farm. _Heda_ Lexa sent a group of _gona_ to raze it to the ground, and they did in the end, but that didn't stop the _Azgedakru_ in the village from fighting back. My mother was one of the gonas who was injured. She was one of the scouts, and she was caught by an _Azripa_. She fought him as best she could, but he had _Azwamplei. _As soon as he cut her, he backed off, and she didn't know why until she felt the pain and realized that she had been poisoned. _

_"It was a small wound, not very deep, so she had time to search the forest for some herbs she knew were antidotes. She tried a few, but none of them seemed to be helping. Finally, when she was beginning to seize, my father found her. She was trespassing on his land, see. _

_"Even though she was _Trikru_, he picked her up in his arms and brought her back to the farm. He had the antidote there. He gave it to her and it saved her life." _Onya smiles. _"_Nomon _did not trust him at first when she woke up from the seizures, but she wasn't strong enough to leave. He nursed her back to health. Apparently, he knew he was going to love her the second he set eyes on her. She was not the same way, but when he didn't kill her when she was weak and he gave her food and shelter while she recovered, she grew more open to him. By the time she was well enough to go back to Polis, she didn't want to."_

Onya pauses to clear her throat before continuing, and as I watch the side of her face visible to me, I can see her right eye welling up as she remembers her parents.

_"They were found out when the village butcher came by to pick up meat. The man threatened to expose my father as a traitor for being involved with my mother, and he attacked my mother then and there. My parents fought him off together, but they had to kill him in the process. When that happened, they knew that they couldn't stay at the farm any longer. They packed what was useful and then set my father's barn on fire before they left so that people would think that he was dead, burnt to ash by the flames._

_"They lived in the woods for a time, but they wandered a bit too close to Polis and got caught by the border patrol. The guards brought my parents to see _Heda_ Lexa. She was merciful," _Onya tells me with a small smile. _"My mother said she thought the _Heda_ could tell my father's feelings were genuine, and because of that and the fact that he was only a farmer, she decided to spare his life. She told them that they had two options. The first was that they separate, and that my father return to _Azgeda _and my mother return to her duties as a _gona. _The second was that they would be exiled from Polis, but allowed to live in one of the surrounding villages if they could find one that would accept them. If they chose that option, my mother would be stripped of her position. _

_"They chose the second, because the first would have meant two things: they wouldn't be able to see each other, and my father would undoubtedly be convicted a traitor and killed if he returned. _Heda_ Lexa __accepted their decision. They were escorted from Polis and told that they would be watched._

_"My mother and father roamed the space around Polis, visiting village after village to find one that would take them in. They were rejected five times, but the sixth village was in need of a livestock farmer, so they decided to take my parents in, even though they didn't really want to and they never really trusted my father. My mother, sure, but _nontu, _no. He didn't try to make them like him, either, which he told me all the time," _she says with a bitter smile, lost in the memory. _"He was too proud. __The only person outside our family he was ever polite to was _Heda _Lexa. She came once a year to make sure my parents were still obeying the law.__" _Onya shakes herself out of the trance.

_"My mother became one of the village teachers a year or so before my parents had me. I am lucky; I learned so much from her in the time we had together." _A tear finally manages to break free of the watery film glazing Onya's eye and she bats at it, clearly embarrassed. I keep quiet but nonetheless pat her shoulder and rub her arm soothingly for a moment before resuming my efforts with her hair.

_"They were out having an argument in the grazing field when it happened," _she tells me, her voice's pitch growing higher as she becomes more and more distressed. _"The _Ripa._ I was in our barn tending to some of the cattle when I heard my parents' shouts. They were outnumbered. There were eight Ripa._ _Eight._" Her tone verges on the hysterical and her breath is coming in gasping pants.

"Shhhh," I hush her, wrapping an arm around her chest and pulling her close. She grabs the limb desperately and turns her head to press her face into the skin below my collarbones. _"Breathe, Onya_. _You're safe with me. Just breathe. I'm so sorry, _goufa_."_

Her breath rattles and she gulps back sobs as she shivers in my embrace. _"They had to kill my mother," _she gets out through the tears. _"She put up too much of a fight. I watched as they slit her throat. It was the only thing that stopped me from running after_ nomon en nontu_ to try to help. I was too shocked to move, I think." _

My eyes prick and I blink frantically, knowing that I need to be the strong one right now, that I can sort out my feelings about what this girl - who is so much _older _on the inside than she seems out the outside - has seen at a later date.

She continues. _"They knocked my father out and dragged him into the forest. By the time I could even think about moving again, Iman, the man from across the way, had heard the noise. When he rushed over and saw what was happening, he restrained me. He told me that if I followed them, I would either be killed on sight or taken into the _Ripa _tunnels, which was as good as death. _

_"And just like that, I was an orphan," _Onya tells me between shaky breaths. _"I found out from one of the survivors at the relief camp in Polis that my father died in the Mountain, but even before I knew for sure, I'd decided he was dead." _She twists her neck awkwardly to look up at me. Her cheeks are red and blotchy, marred by pale tear tracks, and her eyes ... I suppress a shudder. _"I couldn't stand the hope," _she tells me, her tone pleading, as if asking for forgiveness. _"Life was hard enough without them. I couldn't let myself wake up everyday thinking maybe he'd be back, that he'd find me and that we could go back to the barn together like it used to be."_

_"You don't have to explain that to me, Onya," _I whisper. _"I understand. And you have nothing to be ashamed of."_

She gives me a watery half-smile and then ducks her head back down, burrowing herself into my torso again. _"They took it away from me," _she confides, her voice partially muffled against the fabric of my shirt. _"The barn. They found a new farmer, and he was very cruel. He hated me because my father was from _Azgeda. _Told me that if he saw me on his property again, he'd kill me." _My fingers clench around her skin involuntarily and she lets out a hiss; angry at myself, I immediately apologize and lighten my grip.

_"He had no right," _I mutter. _"To do such a thing to a child, and a child who'd just lost her parents, too!" _

I feel more than see Onya shake her head against my chest. _"He was good at making speeches," _she tells me, her voice equal parts angry and sad. _"He turned the people of the village against me, called me the spawn of Ice, an abomination and a disgrace to _Trikru. _I had to flee to Polis - they were going to kill me in the end. Iman was the only one who had any sympathy left for me; he created a diversion so that I could run. _

_"I snuck into Polis using every bit of stealth that my mother had taught me. I've been living in the marketplace ever since. I do chores and run errands for the merchants, and they give me food for it. Sometimes, I've had to steal," _she admits ashamedly. _"I only do it when I start to starve. I have to stay alive. I wouldn't do it if I had any other choice, but I'm too young to have a booth and even if I weren't, I have nothing," _she rambles anxiously.

_"Calm down, Onya," _I admonish her quietly. _"You're not in trouble. We do what we must to survive. I know that as well as - and perhaps better than - most." _There is an odd silence then, and it seems to me like Onya is working herself up to get something off of her chest.

I'm proven right a few seconds later. "_You were the nicest anyone's ever been to me in Polis, _Heda_ Clarke," _she admits at a volume just as subdued as the one I'd used. _"You smiled at me and then you just **gave** me that drawing. You didn't ask for anything, you didn't tell me to go away or call me an urchin, you didn't look at me like I was scum on your shoes. That's why I gave you the bracelet. And then I found out that you were you," _she says, giggling a little at the silliness of the sentence before sobering again. _"That you were the _Skai_ Princess, the Golden Wolf,_ Klark kom Skaikru.

_"I couldn't believe it. I'd heard all about how you brought down the Mountain Men and turned the Ripas back into humans. If my father had been able to hold on in the mountain for a little bit longer, he would have been alive because of you. And a lot of other kids got their moms and dads back because of what you did, too. And **you** noticed **me**_." Her tone is disbelieving. _"And you were nice to me. I didn't know why, but I knew that I had to know you after that, and that you were special._

_"And then you were almost killed," _she says, her voice feeble and wavering. _"You're an _Azjuskikon, _like my mother, and I should have known you would be, but all I could think about was how I had lost my parents and how the only person who had really been kind to me since then had almost died. So when I found out you were leaving so soon after being hurt, and that you were travelling so far, I had to follow, to make sure you would be safe." _I feel new moisture seep through the cloth of my shirt, and know that she's crying again. _"I don't want to lose you like I lost them."_

"Oh, Onya." I hug her tightly, pressing my cheek to the top of her head and rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles. _"I am so sorry, _goufa_. What you have been through is something that no one should have to endure at any age, let alone when they're still so young."_ I sigh._ "If I'd known earlier, we could have saved time, too."_

_"What do you mean?" _she demands, looking up at me, startled.

_"You're sticking with me from now on, _goufa," I tell her. Her eyes widen and I smile at her, both sad at the shock there and a little amused by her surprise. _"If it's alright with you, I'm going to bring you with me to the _Skaikru _camp, and once we're done there and we get back to Polis, you can come and live with me in my tent. As long as I have a say, you'll never have to steal, or run errands for food, or sleep in the stalls again. You and me, we're going to be like sisters,"_ I tell her as gently as possible._ "Does that sound good to you?"_

She stares at me in befuddled silence and I wait for what I've said to sink in.

Finally, she regains her voice. _"But ... why would you want that?"_ she asks, meek and miserable and confused, which only accentuates just how small she is in my arms. _No wonder, _I think to myself distractedly. _Undernourishment. She's probably older than she looks, too. Maybe even nine or ten. _My thoughts are interrupted as she goes on while retreating again to hide her face, _"I know that you're kind, _Heda_ Clarke. But after everything that the Ice Nation has done to you and_ Heda Leksa,_ why would you want to be **sisters** with someone whose father was your enemy?"_

All of the sudden, I understand that horrible expression of hers that I'd noticed earlier. _She thought that I would reject her like the others had done because of her father. _

Carefully, I lean back and use the new space between the two of us to reach a hand down and tilt Onya's face up so that she has inevitably has to meet my gaze. She resists for a brief span of seconds before slumping into my palm and letting her eyes flicker up to meet mine.

"Yongon," I chide her lightly. _Young one. __"Don't insult my intelligence or my integrity. The people of your village may not have been able to grasp that you aren't responsible for your parentage, but I am more than capable of that. Not to mention that I'm sure that many _Azgedakru _are perfectly nice people; it's only the _Azplanheda _and those who work for her that I have a problem with._

_"And you, Onya," _I say, smiling at her with all of the warmth that I possess, _"you have proven your loyalty time and time again. I would be a fool not to want you for a sister."_

The smile that lights up her face breaks my heart, and I feel my eyes moistening and my nose beginning to run. I sniff loudly and then chuckle at myself for having made such an obnoxious noise. Onya giggles again too, her gray eyes sparkling, and before we know it, we're hugging each other, laughing, and crying - in a pleasant turn - mostly happy tears.


End file.
